I know it is forbidden of me as a sanctified scribe of the church, but through my secret allegiances to the gods and spirits of the old order, I compose this chronicle of how the remarkable Floin came to be naked and bent over, to be skewered by the lingum of another man for the first time in the presence of many of the high Druid priests and priestesses of Britain in the annual Samhain harvest festival of the Celtic New Year. This was only a great transitional moment in a life blessed to revel in many adventures of the pleasures of the flesh. If the old ways of the Celtic tribes ever come to revive, it is for this posterity that these tales must survive.

If it is the Christian era that survives into remote ages, then I plead my case to the good people of how different a view of who we were as people and the blessings mixed with sufferings to live in the world. People were not, as is now considered, corrupt and sinful from inception and in need of some faith in one who could provide reformation. All the same, we were not naïive and knew that people are capable of great wickedness. Investigations and punishments were sorted out by the village elders and Druids for injustices done to others, on a case-by-case basis. Otherwise our flesh was considered a great gift of the gods, who like them, we could use our reason to devise ways to shield from the extremes of winter cold and summer heat, find remedies among the herbs of the garden and plants of the forest to assuage our sicknesses. There was not the need to cover up for any sanctity of decency and so in may ways, we were more practical then. Why add to the expense of the fruit of the loom, the frequent scarcity of large game, and the burden of laundering, unnecessarily? In the warmth of huts in the evening, families would routinely disrobe and enjoy their dinners in the nude. Sleeping nude in all seasons of the year under the warmth of unshaped animal skins was mandatory. In the warmest weeks of the summer, sometimes into the beginning of the harvests, everyone worked in the communal fields naked. Late in the day, people relaxed by bathing in the nearby ponds and lakes together before supping. Small children liked this time of the year the best because it was then that their elders were the most playful, especially the men. The Druids were always covered in their white robes in common presence, but as Floin would learn, most of the rituals among themselves were in the nude or very scantily clad.

This was the time that gifted and lusty Floin lived. It was in my grandfather's youth, when the Romans returned to our Britannic isle and, this time, meant to secure it. The Celtic tribes throughout the isle were beginning to coalesce and would be in need of a great many soldiers. Floin was one of those alert and skilled boys that any village may have in their midst once every 5 generations or so. He had all the characteristics that suggested a special blessing by spirits and gods. He was a quick learner for many of the crafts including the forge. In his 12th year he was sent to Winchester to be instructed in Greek mathematics and mastered its essentials ahead of all in the class. But most of all, he developed physically, precociously into the flower of manhood long before most boys do: tall, muscular, broad-shouldered and a broad chest, large hands and feet, and a full thick red beard.

His parents were very pleased, because it was known that the oldest witch among the Druid priestesses would come to the village and investigate. If Floin passed her test that was applied to unusually advanced youths of 17, he would join the ranks of students in Druidic education to enter the priesthood. This was usually only an honor that was passed to those in heredity of Druid families of many generations. Her arrival at the village was greeted with a great feast, but she ate very little and spoke few words to the commoners. The next morning, Floin was awoken at dawn by her attendants and told not to don any apparel despite the chill of the morning. As he arose, the women complimented him for his horn, still nocturnally stiff from his slumber, and informed him that it would be regarded as a good omen by the witch. But it withered to normal pendulous lingum before she caught sight of him. Oddly, he was blindfolded and guided down the village path to another unknown hut. This must have been some old ritual that had lost its purpose, for he instantly identified the hut of his arrival when his sight was restored. What startled him most was the presence of the old woman nude, as well. He had never seen a woman so old like that. She was completely shriveled and skeletal, her long wrinkled titties with permanent large pointed nipples had probably been robust and of great interest among males many decades earlier. There was a great thatch of salt and pepper hair where her otherwise disappeared yoni should be.

"Come here, lad. I have investigated your records and am satisfied that you are in your 17th year. There is much that I like what I see, but I need to inspect you closely like your betrothed maiden will one day. " Floin did as ordered and approached the old woman seated near the blazing hearth. He posed himself at her commands so that she could peer into his mouth and check the condition of his teeth. He pulled back his long red hair for her to inquire of his ears and even their canals. He knelt down and raised his arms, so she could sniff his pits and account for the growth of hair in those parts. Both standing still and bent over, she spread his firm buttocks to check the disposition of his anus and inserted her bony finger to assure that the grip of his ring would be grasping and tight. Last of all, she had him stand close while remained seated so that his lingum and stones hung close to her face. She was very pleased that with her fingers she could instantly stimulate his manhood to thicken and stretch to an impressive bulging straight heated man horn. The fingers of her other hand confirmed that the coarse but silky thicket of hairs about his man parts were unusually dense and long for one so young. The stretched back foreskin uncovered for her a very healthy pink gaping male opening with more than a hint of stimulated male wetness about the head.

"Excellent, my lad! Now I want you to stroke yourself in my presence to a climax where I can observe closely as you squirt out your increment of wet seed." She handed him a little ceramic cup. "Make sure you catch the seed in this. The most important part of the examination is that I can test it for your virility fresh from its discharge from your excited loins." She watched intently as the naked youth fervently gripped his turgid roll of man flesh and stroked rapidly in different places along its length. He revealed all the best signs of good pleasure in manipulating himself despite being in the presence of a degraded old woman. She listened carefully for all his soft grunts and moans . She found the flushed open-mouthed facial expression of other-worldly swoon as revealing of the great intensity he pleasured himself in complete abandon. An acute sensuality was imperative for any successful candidate. It was to his credit that he would find pleasure in occasionally setting the cup in his other hand and use its fingers to fondle his low hanging stones.

She prompted him closer as he raised the cup near to the end of the exercised bone for the last time. She moved her head in for a better look in as he groaned his ecstasy of ethereal release. She watched very intently as the young horn throbbed again and again to shoot little portions of rich smelling off-white seed into the cup. The throbs continued apace even as he released smaller droplets or nothing at all with each hot spasm. In the end, he had discharged a great emission and an outstanding specimen of frothy fresh congealed liquid fruit of young male passion for her scrutiny. But she had to work fast. She had her secret ingredients of potions and powders to mix into the effluence on hand and she did so to precise measurements. The mixture was set on a small scaffolded container inches above a single candle flame. Within minutes it would be known if the subject was of sufficient virility to pass the test.

"Now, my young friend I want you to see something else that you have caused that works in your favor for passing this examination." She spread her legs open and he could see the old thatch of witch hair was matted and sopping wet astride and about two swollen ancient yoni lips. "I have been cold many years and have not known the warm touch of a man for ages immemorial. It is rare that a candidate such as yourself, in doing the things necessary to release his seed in my presence, has this profound effect on me. It shows that you have the innate magic of great sexual prowess and other affairs of the flesh. You could be a great healer and Druid priest if you apply yourself to the instruction of it."

If the emulsion heating above the flame turned no other color, or a color other than a green of fresh spring shoots, then the candidate would not be of sufficient virility to be acceptable. But in his case, the mixture turned to a luminescent light green. Quite literally, Floin had passed the exam with "flying colors."

By this time the attendants had returned to the hut and helped the old woman into her robe, before they all left the village. "Now listen carefully my young friend. The studies and attentions required to be a respectable Druid priest are long, rigorous and demanding. You best be diligent. Upon inquiring of the villagers here among your faults, they concede that on some occasions you can be arrogantly disobedient, that you know better than your elders. I sternly recommend that you cast these flaws in your character aside. " She ogled the naked youth one last time. "You are a very beautiful man, with or without garments. Do not think this earns you any special privileges in your upcoming studies. Your passions of the flesh can one day be of great credit to you, but failure could bring pains you are not accustomed to, tortuous ones. . Instruction starts just before the beginning of the harvest. Be sure you are present at our academy no later than then. Take heed of what I say".

Drink me, I think or was it that pink thing that stinks? Confusion seems an illusion, yet my brain can't come to any conclusion. Did I do something to cause this? I'm feeling tired, or maybe, I'm dizzy or dazed. Did I fall and hit my head? For a moment, I'm sure I did slammed my head into a tree or a brick wall, or on concrete in a fall. Then, like I never thought that at all, I'm distracted by something furry. It gives me a great burst of energy, and I feel like I'm running.
No, wait, wait a minute, I'm on a ride at the fair, or maybe I'm just flying through the air? Shouldn't I care?
Yes, yes, I do care because I have to be somewhere. When, I wonder. “What time is it?” I ask, but nobody answers. “I better go,” I say, but then I wonder where it is I'm supposed to be. I don't even know where I am. “Who are you?”
“I'm the Gypsy...The acid queen...”
It's dark, and one of them barks. I'm afraid, but it's not the black of night that is giving me that fright. It's the thought of arriving someplace that I'm not supposed to be. Why won't my mind show me the place I know I don't want to go? “Shouldn't we have a key?” I ask?
“To tear your soul apart.”
“Stop singing,” I plead.
There is someone here, and now I have a great fear, oh dear. Something is near, I think, isn't that queer? Now I'm not afraid because I'm laughing at my mind for thinking in rhymes. Sensing a grasp, I gasp and ask, "Who are you?"
Bayard replied, "Welcome to my castle," and lit a candle without a flame.
The first thought that came to my brain was, my dog isn't supposed to be in the garden. Next, I was perplexed because gardens don't have walls, windows, and ceilings. I turn to the Gypsy, and in the bright light, she gave me a new fright. I don't know anybody with such a bush of wacky red hair or a top hat that reaches the ceiling. The room is too small, and I'm going to fall. Stop thinking in rhymes I demand of my mind, but that only brings on a fit that shakes my tits. My tits? “Where are my clothes?”
I look for the door but fall to the floor. I'm by a window that's as tall as the wall. Before I can jump, there's a scream which reminds me of a dream. “Is this a dream?” I ask the cat with the black hat. Please be a dream.
The thing in the hat isn't a cat, and Bayard is walking, which seems more strange than when he was talking. He's not a hound anymore, and the room isn't too small. It's huge. I yell, “Am I in Hell,” at the dog with a person's face, then realize he can't hear me, and he's not a dog anymore. It's a man-dragon.
"I have to go. I should never have come here!” I'm on my hands and knees, backing up. “Please, tell me how to leave!"
Nobody can hear me over the noise and the voices saying, “Do you think it's alright...He's had a few too many...”
The character with the giant red afro and the black hat is smiling. I tell him, “Yes, I think it's alright.”
My feet jam against the glass. It gives me a chill; then I get a thrill because I'm naked. I push my knees out and pull them up, smashing my cheeks against the glass. The abrasive carpet greets my face, shoulders, and chest. My tits bulge at my sides, crushed flat. The curve of my back is severe, pushing my butt up in the air.
The dragon is talking as he's walking, but all I hear is, “I'm...wicked...fiddle, fiddle, fiddle...”
I sense I should be afraid. The dragon is eight-feet tall, and his wingspan cast a shadow over me. Should I trust the monster and the Mad Hatter? I close my eyes and listen, trying to make sense of what's happening.
“Fiddle...bedclothes...nightshirt...you won't shout...fiddle about...”
My head might be spinning. Maybe I shouldn't have drunk the tea, I think, or maybe I have to pee. I don't know, and it doesn't seem to matter. Nothing matters when you're having a dream or even a nightmare. Something is behind me, but I don't care because nothing can hurt me in a dream.
Fingers are touching my cheeks, pulling them apart. I feel the tender tissue stretch. It feels nice, but I know that's not right. Open your eyes, I tell myself. Once they are open, you'll be in your bed, and you'll have an amazing tale to tell.
A warm breeze makes me coo, “Ooh.” As long as it's a dream, who cares, I think. Then I remember the time I was actually was peeing in my bed. I open my eyes and see clawed feet. That is a huge dragon, I tell myself, run, but I'm not afraid. I think I love him. Then I'm amazed by his superhuman genitalia. His cock is as long as an arm, and his swinging sack is packed with softballs sized testicles.
"Kill me. Make me your eternal whore." Did I say that?
The right side of my face is smashed against the carpet. Something hot, slick and slimy slaps down on my back. Smoke is blowing around my head. Fingers gouge into the meat of my ass. The dome of his cock covers my asshole like the fat end of a baseball bat. I think to say, take it away, but where else could it go? “Oooh.” Now I know, but I'm not sure why I agreed to it. Did I agree to this?
My pussy is being pulled open. The dragon roars and the carpet starts smoking, but it's my insides that are burning. I'm being split apart, all the way to my heart. I should scream, this isn't a dream, but when I open my mouth, I can't believe what comes out. “Oh, yes, yes, take me, take me, make me...”
Something warm is running down my inner thighs. Did he break or make me—The fire in my belly answers my question. He's driving his phallic scepter deeper and deeper. It's filling me and ripping me, crushing my internal organs. The vein throbbing shaft is going to kill me, or maybe I'm already dead. Yes, I must be dead.
The dragon's cock-head enters my throat. It's like vomiting up a handball. I look down over my nose and open my mouth to let him out. He's fucking me through and through. My jaw stretches painfully. His red dome bursts out—In-out, in and out it goes as he pounds me. Wham, he slams, swinging his massive balls. They slap, slap, slap against my stomach. His dick is swelling like a firehose filling with water. The dragon's sperm is surging through his ramrod and spilling out. It pools around my face to drown me. Then my hair catches fire when flames encase my head. Now I know I'm dead. I'm definitely dead.
Cathy Evans pulled a file folder from the cabinet, turned toward the receptionist and said, “Janis, send my ten o'clock in when she gets here.”
Janis nodded while dialing the phone. Cathy walked into her office and sat in a large, leather chair. Once she had her right foot tucked under her left thigh, she opened the folder on the red skirt stretched across her lap.
25 yr old, female.
Education: High School. Some college. Incomplete. States drugs and alcohol, “used liberally," during college contributed to not finishing.
Note-Substance use started in H.S. Currently doesn't drink or use drugs.
Reason for treatment: Reoccurring dream. Wakes up afraid to go back to sleep. Problem started years ago. She thought they would stop eventually, but they seem to be getting worse.
Client has never been treated for mental health issues. No family history. No military service. Does not suffer from depression. Does not hear voices. Has never had suicidal thoughts or a desire to hurt herself.
Family Structure intact. Two siblings, older sister, and older brother. Relationships are, “Good, were always good. We all got along great.”
Session notes, July 11, 1985.
Appearance: Medium-length blonde hair, fair skin, blue eyes. Cheeks are always rosy?
Disposition: Curious, pedantic, easily flustered, sweet, clumsy.
Clearly disturbed by dreams, but not yet prepared to give details or talk about the subsequent “disturbing” thoughts.
Requested she write down the details as soon as she wakes up, then go back to sleep. Write every time she wakes up from a dream.
Weekly visits.
Session notes, July 18, 1985.
Big smile. Eyes are tired looking.
Growing more concerned that the dreams will affect her relationship. Sometimes she wakes up screaming. Has never lived with anyone and worries she won't be able to. Dreams are increasing. Possible triggers: Seasonal, shorter days, relationship stress?
Claims dream is a bunch of strange, twisted up events, but she knows it's one continuous dream.
Need more details for analysis.
Admits to being sexually active in high school. First partner in H.S. She was vague. Almost resistant. No name or age given. Withholding or repressing?
Session notes, July 25, 1985.
Big smile, cheeks rosy, but dark rings under eyes.
Dreaming more often. Details: In water, the woods, a field, and a strange house. Scenes change frequently but maintains that it is one continuous dream. Thinks she is a little girl. There is dialog.
Still need more details for analysis. Still unclear if she is withholding or repressing?
Instructed her to continue writing the details as she gets them.
Session notes, August 2, 1985.
Dream: Teacup is empty. Has no idea who the other people are or if they're even people, but they are telling her things. She has a sense that she needs to get someplace or be somewhere important, but never finds out where. It's also possible that she is trying to get away from someplace or person.
None of that warrants fear. She seems reluctant to give all the details.
Possible connection with drug use and dreams?
Admitted being promiscuous in H.S. In college she had multiple partners at the same time. Heavy use of alcohol was not always involved. Seems to be trying to prove something or use sex as a coping mechanism.
***The client's disposition is inconsistent with my character profile. Still withholding or repressing details. Need to know the scary part that wakes her up.
Session notes, August 8, 1985.
Dream: Teacup isn't empty. They're not people, but they are talking to her. One of them has the face of a person but the body of an animal. Thinks that's what scares her.
She follows a rabbit through a small hole. The hole seems too small for an adult.
August 15, 1985, Cathy Evans, Psychologist Ph.D., sat across from a woman in a blue denim dress with bright yellow daisies on the chest. “I sense you are leaving something out. Is there a reason you wouldn't want to tell me all of the dream? You trust me, don't you?” Cathy asked. “It's important that you feel like you can tell me anything.”
“You're gonna think I'm crazy."
"No, I'm not going to think that,” Cathy said, firmly. “You came here for my help, and I want to help you through this, but I need to know everything to do that.”
"I know. I'm sorry."
“It's okay," Cathy said with an encouraging smile. "Why don't you walk me through the dream from beginning to end. Give me every detail."
"It's a little nuts."
"That's fine," Cathy said. "The meaning of dreams can be very elusive. Your brain is filled with billions of memories. It knows exactly how something felt, smelled, sounded and what you saw, plus the feelings and the thoughts and the emotions experienced. During a dream, two or more events can be twisted together."
"But I wake up thinking—It's bizarre. If anybody—I don't even want to think about it."
"I understand," Cathy lied. "It's important that you feel safe telling me everything."
"I do, Ms. Evans, I do."
"Good," Cathy said and picked up her pen. "Go ahead." The pen scratched on her pad.
"There is a rabbit."
"Is that what scares you?" Cathy asked.
"No, he's funny. The rabbit is always first; then there's a huge hedge. I go through it. I go through a hole that seems too small to fit."
"Does the hole scare you?"
"No. I think I know I should be afraid, but I go through anyway. Like when you're hitchhiking, you know it's dangerous, but you get in any way."
“Do you ever have the sensation that you're falling?"
"I might trip and fall. It's not clear. I'm dizzy, I think."
Cathy pushed her glasses up and said, “Keep going.”
Ten minutes later, Cathy reviewed her notes and said, "Alice, do you know what it sounds like?"
"Yes, of course," Alice said. “Alice in Wonderland. You think I'm dreaming about a fairy tale.”
“No,” Cathy said and put both feet on the floor. “Did you read that story when you were little?”
“Of course,” Alice said. “My name is Alice.”
Cathy leaned forward. “Did the story scare you?”
“No, not at all. I used to dress up as Alice for Halloween."
“There is a chance that as a young girl it might have been a little frightening. Then, if something happened later on while you were dressed up as—”
“No, no that's not it. Alice never sees a dragon.” The terror in the woman's eyes was tangible. “She doesn't get killed by a dragon. I get killed! I die every time I have that fuckin' dream!” Alice crossed her arms over her chest, grabbed her shoulders and hugged herself like she was freezing.
Cathy leaned back in her chair. “That's what scares you, then?”
“Yes, of course, I get killed by the dragon.”
“Why was it so hard for you to share that with me? We've been talking about this for weeks.”
Alice shook her head. “I don't know.”
“Was it too scary to talk about,” Cathy asked.
“I guess,” Alice said, loosening her arms. “It's scary, yes. I wake up when I know I'm dead. Isn't it really bad to actually die in your dreams? Doesn't it mean something bad is going to happen?”
“No, Alice, that's not true. People say that, but it's a myth. It can actually be a good sign. It might symbolize you're moving on from the past to something new. Do you think that could be true for you? Is there something in your past that you're trying to move away from?”
“I don't know, but I don't like getting killed night after night.”
“I can understand that.” Cathy scribbled on her pad. “You said you wake up when you know you're dead. If you know you're dead, aren't you still alive?”
Alice cocked her head quizzically. “Yeah, I suppose I am, I think. Maybe I'm dreaming in my dream and the dream is of me dying, but I know I'm dreaming. Does that make sense?”
“I know what you mean. I've woken up in a dream, too. How does the dragon kill you?” Alice shifted several times in the chair and looked around the psychologist's office. Cathy said, “You don't have to be embarrassed.”
“But I am,” Alice said. “It's embarrassing.”
“I understand why you might feel that way, but it's important that I hear everything if you want a good analysis of your dream,” Cathy said. “Maybe it would be easier for you to write the whole thing out like it's a story. Be as honest as you can and get every detail, no matter how insignificant it might seem. Pretend nobody is ever going to read it. And nobody ever has to. When it's done, you can decide if you want to share it with me. Do you think you can do that?”
Alice's head nodded. “Yes, okay, I can try that.”
“While you're writing, think about anything that might have happened to you. Anything that scared you. It's possible this dream is connected to an event in your life.”
Alice's head was still nodding. “Okay.”
“If you want me to read it, bring it next time, knowing you don't have to. Nobody ever has to read it.”
“Can I send it to you? You know, mail it.”
“If you think that will make it easier, then that's fine.”
“I'll do that, I think I'll do that.”
“If you find you're getting too upset, then stop...take a break. Call if you need to.”
“Thank you, thank you, I will.”
Cathy Evans said goodbye to the ashen-faced woman, then updated her chart: Alice made a breakthrough today. She told me something she had been holding back, but there is still more that she isn't saying. Likely suffered a trauma that her mind has turned into a monster in her dreams so she doesn't have to face the truth...
Five days later, at 9 PM, Cathy Evans dragged the back of her hand across her forehead and blew out a long breath. Alice's account of her dream was extremely detailed. Cathy spread the pages out on her desk, but before she started reading again, she opened her appointment book and blocked out the hour following Alice's next visit.
Cathy rolled her pen through her fingers; then stuck the end in her mouth, clinking it across her teeth as she started reading. “It's Halloween night, but I'm not going trick-or-treating. I'm too old for that. I'm outside with a friend...”
August 22, 1985
Cathy Evans looked up from her notes, gave Alice a reassuring smile and asked, “Did you listen to The Who?”
“I did, but my brother loved them and played their albums all the time.”
“Did you see the movie, Tommy?”
“I did,” Alice said. “My brother took me and my friend.”
“Did it scare you at all?”
“No, not at all.”
“Let's go back to that time in your life,” Cathy said. “Did anything major happen? Anything significant that you remember during that year?”
Alice shook her head. “I don't think so. Not anything that I remember.”
“Okay, how about the setting in your dream, does it represent something from your childhood? It's very important to establish connections between the dream and things that might have happened.”
“I think so. There was this place near my house. It was an old estate that all the kids said was haunted. You know how kids are. Nobody lived there. It had a tall fence around the property. It was a big spooky house with lots of woods near it. A lot of the time it was foggy in there. We always said it was because of the ghosts, but later we found out it was because the lake behind the house was warm, so when the air got cool it got foggy.”
“That's good, Alice, very good,” Cathy said and put a check mark on page one of Alice's dream. “Is there something else?”
“Yes, there was a huge iron gate. Two gates, you know, that open away from each other. And stone pillars next to them. It was overgrown with vines and weeds.” Alice shivered and said, “Above the gates, it said, Wonderland...and each pillar had a creepy creature on top.”
“A dragon?”
“Not a dragon, more like Godzilla and a wolf thing on the other one.” Alice put her heels on the edge of her chair and brought her knees up to her chin.
“Is there any reason that it might have been a scary place for you? I mean beyond the childhood folklore. Something traumatic?”
“I don't think so,” Alice said. “We stopped being afraid of it. We used to sneak onto the property. It was kinda the joke, you know, Alice in Wonderland.”
“Alice, you did an excellent job writing out the details of your dream. You mentioned going through a hole. Was there a hole that you used to get on the property?”
“Yes, a hole in the fence, but first we had to go through the hedge. It used to scratch me.”
“Could that be the small hole from your dream?”
“It could be.”
“If that's so, can you think of anything memorable that happened to you in there?”
“I wasn't allowed to go there,” Alice said. “My parents would have killed me if they caught me in there again.”
“They caught you at some point?”
“They found out. Me and my sister were talking about it. We went in there because someone dared us. My father told us never to do it again.”
Cathy noted Alice's protective posture. The woman was hugging her legs and rocking like an emotionally distraught child. “I assume you continued to go.”
“Yeah, yeah, I did, but not until a couple of years later when I was drinking and all.”
“Was that one of your regular hangouts?”
Alice shook her head. “Not regular, occasionally.”
“I assume by 'and all,' you mean drugs?”
“Unfortunately, yes, that's what I mean.”
“Alice, I've spent a good deal of time going through what you sent me and looking in my reference books. There is a great deal that suggests something happened to you and your brain has turned it into a dream. Can you think of anything?”
“Maybe, maybe there could be,” Alice said without looking away from her kneecaps.
“What do you think the teacup represents?”
Alice finally lifted her head. Her expression was defensive. “How should I know?”
Cathy made another check mark on a page of Alice's story without speaking, then she waited a minute before saying, “I'm here to help you, Alice, not to judge you.”
A defeated look settled on Alice's face. “Probably mushrooms. I did mushrooms. They made tea.”
“Is there one particular time in Wonderland that you think most likely corresponds to your dream?”
“Maybe, I guess.”
“Tell me about it.”
“There was this one Halloween, I was supposed to be with my friend, Ginger Snap, but she didn't want to go to Wonderland. She was afraid. I ditched her and went by myself. I knew there were people hanging out, but I don't remember who.”
“They gave you mushrooms?”
“I think so,” Alice said. “Maybe not at first, but later, maybe.”
“You think that could be represented by the teacup being empty, then having something in it?”
Alice nodded and tightened her arms around her legs. “I had never done mushrooms before, and I don't think I wanted them.”
“Did someone force you?”
Alice shook her head emphatically. “No.”
Cathy wrote on her pad. “There is a possibility that much of your dream is based on things that you think happened while you were—”
“Tripping?” Alice said.
“Yes, hallucinating. It can be difficult for your mind to distinguish between what you imagined and what happened. The two could be merging. Dreams are confusing enough without the effects of psychedelics.”
Alice's expression turned hopeful. “Is it possible I imagined the whole thing, and I'm just dreaming about a memory of an imagination?”
“I doubt it,” Cathy said. “We know you were there in Wonderland on a Halloween night, so that part of your dream is based in reality. Even when you're hallucinating, those hallucinations are related to your surrounding or something that is happening.”
“Oh.”
“Don't get discouraged. We're making progress. We've established important connections. Are you prepared to go a little deeper so we can separate real events from those fabricated in your mind?”
“I guess.”

Preparation

I was helping Da feed my little sister when the village healer passed by our compound. I have many little siblings from my father's five wives, but little Mae was a bit sickly and, at seven years old, still had trouble feeding on Da's penis. She sucked weakly and tried to milk it with her small hands, but always seemed to tire before she could feed.

So I usually helped out, as it was especially important for a sickly seven-year-old to get as much of her father's energizing semen as possible. At twelve, I'm the age that little children like best, and I easily made a game out of it with Mae. I encouraged and praised her as she suckled, but then acted like I needed her to teach me how to milk him properly.

She laughed with joy and imperiously explained to me how it's done when the healer, Sa Mep, entered our courtyard and greeted us. I removed my father's manhood from my mouth and respectfully returned her greeting, curtsying and drawing the welcome sign in the earth with my big toe, adding the gesture reserved for healers and elders of high rank.

"You're teaching your big sister so well, Mae-Za," Sa Mep said with a wink, playing along. "Soon she won't even need a teacher anymore and will receive her father's seed all by herself, just like you!"

Mae beamed.

“I happened to be passing by to see you and your father,” Sa Mep continued, “but I will rest my old bones here in the shade until you have had your afternoon snack.”

“Let me get you some water and a Dzingdzing leaf, Sa Mep,” I said.

“Thank you, my child.”

When I returned, the healer was sitting in the shade, and Mae was no longer drinking. I feared she had given up or was embarrassed by the elder's presence, but then I saw how red our father's face looked and heard my little sister smacking her lips with satisfaction.

"You drooled a little, my strong girl," Da cooed, wiping her cheek. Mae stuck out her tongue with a blissful expression, and Da wiped the last drop of his milky semen onto her tongue.

It was the first time I'd ever seen her eat. Certainly, the healer's powers were strong, and she'd always influenced my sister from across the courtyard! I didn't praise my sister, however, since Sa Mep's gambit of pretending she was already the more skilled milker had apparently worked.

Instead, I gave the healer her drinking gourd and dzingdzing leaf and said casually, "It's almost sunset; I'd better go down to the stream to do my ablutions. After all, we're welcoming the civet clan apprentices tonight."

In case any barbarians read this journal (for it is my goal to continue it as I become a traveling merchant through the Seven Realms), I would like to explain the relationship between the civets and our people.

The Civet clan was our neighbor and had many apprentices this year, young men between the ages of fourteen and seventeen.

Since we had far fewer apprentices, some children my age, between ten and thirteen, helped welcome our neighbors. This required ablutions, of course, since the Civet clan and ours belong to the same half and cannot have children together.

It would also be extremely impolite to offer a guest an unclean back entrance or to improperly control their semen, leaving it to lie dormant in their hostess's bowels without nourishing her. To give and receive the semen of our brave neighbors in an appropriate and courteous manner, thorough ablutions were essential.

Sa Mep's eyes flashed again as I excused myself to go to the ablutions. "Mae-Za," she said mischievously, "why don't you help Kyn-Za with her ablutions too? I'm sure you'd have a good influence on her and ensure her back entrance is completely clean to welcome a strong civet boy!"

"But Kyn—" Then Mae remembered the game and eagerly agreed. We skipped down to the stream hand in hand, leaving Sa Mep to talk to Da.

Many young people my age stood by the stream, all lined up across the current so our impurity could be carried away and the fields could be fertilized. Mae waded into the water next to me and, while I squatted, instructed me to open my sphincter and suck in the purifying water. To my surprise, she pushed up her tunic and did the same next to me. From the eddies of the stream, I could see that she, too, had suddenly mastered this art. Truly, Sa Mep was a sorceress. 

That evening, my little sister and I stretched and oiled each other's hind legs, and my twin brother, Han-Zi, opened us even further with his boy, who was already as big as little Mae-Za's three fingers. He was delighted by her sudden power and almost lost his seed in her hind legs, but I saw him gasping and trembling and reminded him by instructing Mae to open her mouth for his thin, milky boy seed.

She did so, looking at him with all her little-girl love, and he pulled his quivering cock from her bowels and shoved it into her pouting mouth just in time. Then I took the cajoling game Sa Mep had so wisely started one step further, begging my little sister to share the harvested seed with me, her poor, hungry big sister! This was a first, and Mae-Za delighted in our reversed roles, giggling merrily as she dripped some of our brother's seed onto my meekly waiting tongue.

Mae-Za was so excited about her newfound powers that she begged Sa Qun, our councilwoman, to allow her to take on an apprentice from the Civet clan, even though he was of a lower age rank. Sa Qun smiled ironically at my little sister, who was bouncing comically on her toes and twisting her legs as if she were peeing, with the toes of one little foot resting on top of the other.

"You know, Mae-Za," said the older one, "I'm sure the civet boys would be happy to be greeted by a pretty little girl, but we have to be careful that you don't overexert yourself and injure yourself!"

Mae-Za protested that Han-Zi was almost an apprentice and had only entered through her back gate a few minutes ago.

"But you know a boy's scepter grows quite a bit in his thirteenth and fourteenth summers!" Sa Qun said kindly. "If you'd still like to try, perhaps my Ri-Za can help you figure out if you're ready. She's an apprentice glassblower and just yesterday brought home a beautiful, apprentice-sized toy scepter made of azure-flecked glass. Would you like to try it with her?"

Mae-Za squealed and jumped up and down. Sa Qun called Riri, who, at fourteen, was the glassblower's youngest apprentice and a late bloomer, as she still only had swollen breasts and no real hair on her girl mound. Mae-Za and I always enjoyed giving and receiving pleasure with her, as she was very skilled with her fingers, her tongue, and even her toes, which she loved to use to please her playmates' girls. She possessed a special skill, and everyone delighted in offering their toes to Ri-Za's delicious mouth while her slender fingers sucked and licked inside our gates!

“Good evening, Riri!” I called, as always a little bit in love with the older girl.

Ri-Za beamed from ear to ear. "Thank goodness we have some girls to play with! All everyone's talking about these smelly civet boys today."

“Don’t be rude, Ri-Za,” her mother scolded.

“I’m sorry, Mom.”

Sa Qun told her daughter about Mae's request. Riri grinned.

"I'd love to see how strong and supple your little hole is, Mae! Shall we go to my room?"

"Can Kyn-Za play too?" Mae asked. She knew how much I liked Ri.

"Of course! She can help me. Sisters always know how to get each other ready."

"Yes," I said, "Mae-Za likes it when I lick her toes while I open her little hole with my fingers."

"Then she'll like it when I use my crystal ball!" said Riri. Mae just grinned and clapped her hands.

We all washed our feet and scurried out of Riri's room, where we playfully took off each other's shirts and lay down on the clean reed mats. I pulled Mae-Za's legs up and began nibbling on her wobbly little toes, while Ri lay on her stomach and licked my little sister's soft, swollen girl skin until her toes curled orgasmically in my mouth. She didn't forget Mae-Za's backdoor either, sticking out her tongue pointedly and tasting her wrinkled flower like a hummingbird. With her little hole nicely moist with spit and girl juice, Mae-Za easily took two of Riri's fingers, then a third, up to the second knuckle.

"I think it's time to try out my toy," said Riri, pulling out a beautiful azure-blue glass ball with a narrow top and a wide bottom. Mae stared at the thing, and Riri playfully popped it into my little sister's open mouth.

"That was in my tunnel before you came," said Riri. "But don't worry, I did my ablutions today!"

Mae-Za didn't look the least bit worried. She was happily sucking on the toy, humming to herself and smearing her saliva all over it. Riri suggested adding a little more drool, "to make it all slippery, like we do with those civet boys before we let them in our little back doors!" We both drooled on the toy and into Mae-Za's mouth. She giggled and blew drool bubbles, and Riri took the drooling toy away from her and began teasing her little hole with the tip. I continued sucking on her toes and caressing her little legs while holding her up. Mae had a relaxed, dreamy smile on her face. As Ri-Za circled her blue-flecked glass globe around my little sister's hole, the pretty pink fold opened like a sea anemone and gently allowed more of the toy in. Without flinching or whimpering (unless you count coos and squeals of pleasure), Mae-Za inserted the thickest part of the toy into her anus, and her hole closed tightly around the base. Riri and I exchanged glances. Then our older friend began gently moving the gem back and forth inside my little sister, bending her head forward to lick her little slit, blocking my view as her strands of hair fell over my sister's belly, which rose and fell with pleasure. Soon, her little toes buried themselves in my mouth again, and her squeals of pleasure must have been heard throughout the village.

"I think we should calm you down, Maemae," Ri joked. "Kyn-Za, maybe you should sit on her loud little mouth. Would you like that, Mae-Za?"

"Yes, please! May I stick my tongue in your ass, Kyn-Za?"

"Of course!" I said, positioning my panties over my little sister's mouth. Her playful tongue was soon moving back and forth between my holes, making me gasp with pleasure.

Riri pushed the toy further through Mae's back door, which now opened slightly.

"I think you've proven you can take on a civet boy," Riri declared. I agreed.

“Imagine the bullet is a civet boy about to squirt, and put it in my mouth!” Mae said from beneath me.

Ri pulled the toy out effortlessly, and I reluctantly rose from Mae-Za's face. Ri bent down to place her face over Mae's, the toy between them.

"He's about to cum! Ready, Mae-Za?"

My little sister grinned and opened her mouth wide. The glass ball went in, and she sucked on it, went "mmm," and puffed out her cheeks.

It squirted as if a boy was squirting in her mouth.

Riri pulled out the toy and said, “Yummy?”

“Mm-hm!” Mae-Za nodded and pressed her lips together.

“Can Kyn-Za and I try it?”

"Mm-hmmm!"

“Who first?”

Mae-Za pointed to Riri, who leaned back, opened her mouth, and slobbered her imaginary semen onto the older girl's tongue. Then I bent down, and Riri handed me the spit.

“Your butt got some delicious civet juice!” I said.

“I think it’s time to try the original,” said Ri-Za.

At that moment we heard the village gong announcing the arrival of the civet chicks.

Chapter 1

Powell Blair was on a mission. He chuckled at that thought. His sire, Reverend Arthur Blair, was a famous missionary preacher, but the son's goals were far different from the father's. Powell was in search of a vision. Well, a sighting, at least, of the family's young servant girl, in the nude.
Cassie was just fourteen, a year younger than Powell, but her womanly charms had bloomed early. Her simple white dress set off the perfection of her flawless chocolate skin. As the young girl went about her duties, Powell would try to position himself where he could watch her pass in front of a window, so the light would reveal the shape of her dark figure through the thin material.
Cassie's ample, perky breasts pushed out the front of her garment as she moved. When she was dusting downstairs, Powell would point out places where she would have to stretch upward to clean. In the process, Cassie's assets were displayed more prominently. These charms were accented all the more as Cassie's rounded buttocks pulled her dress tighter over her chest.
If she were his sister, the preacher's boy knew that his parents would have smothered her breasts with undergarments. But a servant girl was not an object of their concern, and their son's interest in the ever changing firmness of the girl's nipples went unnoticed.
Powell had managed to avoid accompanying his parents in the car to the railroad station to wait for the train of President Coolidge. Then he had looked for something to occupy his time. Powell had walked past the kitchen and heard the girl tell her mother, the cook, that she was through with her tasks, and was going to wash the sweat from her body and take a nap.
Cassie's perspiration was a subject of excitement for Powell. The sheen of moisture on her skin as she labored enhanced her exotic beauty. The preacher's son had often imagined himself licking the sweat from her body, as he lay in bed at night flailing his hard cock to eruption.
On such occasions, he would wipe the creamy fluid from his belly with his soft cotton drawers. In the morning, he would summon the young servant girl to take them away for washing. He hoped the stain of his semen would arouse the girl's passion. He never knew it was a subject of amusement for the girl and her older brother.
Powell had carefully reconnoitered the servants' bathing room, and was confident he could stand, unobserved, outside the slatted shutter that covered a small window. His station would be at an inner corner of the house, protected from the sun, and darkened further by a large tree nearby. He would be unseen from inside, while the room and its occupant would be brightly lit by a long window, high on the outer wall.
The servants' bath was simple, without plumbing. Beneath Powell's viewing window stood a water tank, filled bucket by bucket from the well. The girl would bathe by pouring bowls of water over her head, and then, as the boy imagined in his lusty fantasy, Cassie would lather her dark, slippery skin. She would rub her sexy nipples and soap that other place, whose appearance he could only surmise.
Powell had snatched his dark cap from the hall tree to cover his blond hair. By luck, he had worn a dark shirt, and he was sure his well tanned face would not betray him. He would be invisible from within the bath chamber. He moved quickly along the side of the house toward his goal, wanting to arrive before the unsuspecting girl came on stage.
Satisfied that his position was dimly lit by the cloudy sky of the late afternoon, the boy waited impatiently for the object of his lust to come and bathe. Soon, Cassie entered the chamber and pulled her dress over her head. The girl's dark skin glistened with her unwanted perspiration, and her conical breasts jutted from her bare chest.
The young voyeur panted with desire, as silently as he could manage, while the girl bent over, wearing just her white cotton underpants, and picked up a bar of soap from the floor. She set the soap on a table, and pushed down her panties.
Powell almost fainted from excitement, when she tossed them aside and stood, legs spread, and stretched her arms above her head. Every secret place of her body was exposed to his gaze. He frantically unbuttoned his trousers and pulled his hard prick through the opening.
The beautiful, almost mature young woman looked directly toward her hidden admirer, as she dipped a bowl into the tub and poured the cool water over her body. Her nipples erected, and goose bumps flashed over her skin, before her motion warmed her and chased them away.
Powell stroked his engorged organ, as the sexy girl soaped her dark body. She buried her flesh beneath a mass of white suds that slithered down toward the floor, revealing her dark, glistening skin and then covering it anew. The white boy wished he could reach through the wall and touch the soapy globes of her breasts.
He longed to fling off his own clothing and press his naked body against the girl's slippery black skin. His hard cock ached for fulfillment, somehow, within the dark, sensual flesh of the wet servant girl. He wished ...
Powell wished he hadn't heard the husky male voice behind him say, "What you doin' there, boy?"
He whirled, his fist frozen around his deflating cock, to face the threatening form of the girl's older brother. The sixteen-year-old worked as the family's gardener. His name was Noah, and now he stood close to the startled preacher's son, hands on his hips. The black boy's bare torso glistened with sweat; his shirt dangled from the back pocket of his dark canvas trousers, which were held up by a knotted rope belt.
Though darker than the tanned white boy, Noah's caramel complexion was several shades lighter than his chocolate-skinned sister. Powell was unaware of the whispered speculation of the older members of his father's congregation, who gossiped that the Reverend preacher was the only white man in the house at the time of the servant boy's conception.
"Y'all been peekin' at my sister, ain'cha?" the black boy accused his young master.
"No, I wasn't." Powell tried to deny his sin, knowing it was futile, as he frantically tried to stuff his prick back through the too small opening in his pants.
"My sister be in there nekkid, and y'all be out here watchin' and playin' with yourself," said the young gardener, in a tone more of wonder than outrage. "Ain't y'all in there, Cassie?" the boy called out in a louder voice.
"Is that y'all, Noah?" came the girl's reply. "What y'all doin' out there?"
"Mastah Powell be out here watchin' y'all in the bath, Cassie," her brother informed her.
"What would your daddy say about that?" Noah asked the preacher's son.
"You wouldn't tell him," said Powell in alarm.
"Your daddy'd tan your butt so y'all couldn't set for a week," declared Noah, savoring the picture. A plan was taking shape in the black boy's mind. "Come on out here, Cassie," he called to his sister.
"I'm going inside," said Powell. He started to move away from the bathroom wall.
Noah stepped in front of him. "No suh, 'lessen y'all be wantin' me and Cassie to tell your daddy what y'all was doin' out here with your pecker," said the black boy. "Stay right here for a minute," he ordered.
Powell's shoulders slumped. He was trapped. But what did Noah want?
Cassie came along the side of the house. She was wrapped in a white towel that covered her from just above her breasts to just below her hips. Powell's cock twitched, as he realized she must be naked under the towel.
"Let's go out back, behind the tool shed, and talk about this," said Noah.
"What we gonna do, Noah?" Cassie asked the question that filled Powell's mind.
"Y'all see when we get there," said her brother.
They walked across the yard toward the tool shed and went behind it, away from the sight of anyone in the house. When they stopped, Noah repeated the charge against the defendant. "So y'all likes to look at my sister, Mastah Powell?"
The white boy stood silent, and Noah pressed him, "Ain't that so? Speak up."
Powell took a breath. What did the black boy want? "Yes," he admitted.
"Do y'all think she's pretty, Mastah Powell?" asked Noah.
"Yes," said Powell.
"Take off that towel, Cassie," said Noah. Both of his companions looked shocked. "Go ahead, Cassie. Let him see y'all," said the black boy.
Not understanding, but trusting her older brother, Cassie unwrapped the towel from her body and dropped it on the grass. Then she put one arm across her breasts, and the other hand in front of her groin. When she saw her brother's frown, she dropped her hands to her side.
Powell's mouth hung open.
"Ain't she pretty, Mastah Powell?" asked Noah.
"Yes," said Powell. "She's beautiful, like one of those statues."
"Would y'all like to touch her, Mastah Powell?" Noah asked, in a voice that must have been something like that of the serpent in the Garden of Eden.
"Oh, yes," said Powell. His hand reached forward toward the girl.
"Hold it, Mastah Powell," barked Noah. "Take off your clothes."
Cassie's face lit up with a smile of delight. Powell's face showed only shock.
"Y'all heard me, Mastah Powell," said Noah. "It be only fair. If'n y'all wants to look at Cassie, then we wants to look at y'all."
Cassie got into the proceedings. "Go on, Mastah Powell. Ain't nobody out here but just us."
Powell couldn't speak, and couldn't move. He gulped.
The naked black girl took a step forward, and reached out. She tossed Powell's cap onto the grass, freeing his blond hair. "Lemme help y'all," she said, unbuttoning the white boy's shirt.
When it was open, Powell felt the burning touch of Noah's fingers sliding over the skin of his shoulders and along his arms, pulling the garment off and dropping it to the ground.
Powell's bare chest rose and fell with his heavy breathing, as Cassie opened his belt and started to undo the buttons of his fly.
"Wait!" said Noah, who dropped to his knees and lifted first one foot and then the other to remove Powell's shoes from his sockless feet. He stood up and moved around behind the white boy. "Go ahead, Cassie," he said.
Cassie undid Powell's fly, and Noah dragged the trousers off the boy's hips and let them drop to his ankles. Powell shuddered as Cassie pulled down his loose white cotton drawers. When they fell to the ground, she stepped back and looked curiously at the white boy's flaccid pink cock, framed by sparse yellow curls.
"Step out of your pants," directed Noah.
Powell lifted his feet and stepped forward, completely naked, toward the black girl, who took a step back.
Noah knelt and tossed the pants and shirt further away. When he stood again, he observed, "Y'all's not a bad lookin' boy, Mastah Powell. Ain't that so, Cassie?"
"Yes, Noah," agreed Cassie. "Mastah Powell, I'm right proud that y'all thinks I'm pretty."
She hesitated, and then said, "Y'all can touch me, if'n y'all wants to."
Cassie and Noah watched with interest as Powell's cock filled and stretched and rose to point straight toward the naked girl. The white boy stepped forward and softly cupped one of her firm, dark breasts with each hand. Powell's hard cock bumped against Cassie's hip. His hands moved over the forbidden fruit, massaging her hardening nipples.
"Ahhhh," moaned Cassie. "That feels real nice, Mastah Powell."
Powell felt Noah's callused hands roam over his naked hips. The black boy murmured in Powell's ear, "Don't be shy, Mastah Powell. Touch her pussy."
Powell's heart jumped at the sound of the naughty word. His right hand moved hesitantly downward; he rotated his palm and laid it between the black girl's legs. The heel of his hand brushed her tight curls; below, his fingers found a moist crease. He heard the girl sigh as he drew his hand back, and his finger trailed through a wet slit that opened before him like the Red Sea. At the top, he found a hard button and rubbed his slick finger around it curiously, making Cassie shiver.
Behind him, Powell heard Noah say, "Y'all can kiss her titty while y'all be doin' that." A hard stick slid along Powell's hip, and he realized it was Noah's naked cock.
Powell bent forward and slurped his lips over Cassie's dark breast. His finger slid through her cunt and teased her clit. He felt the black girl steady herself by gripping Powell's bare shoulders. His cock twitched regularly.
He barely noticed Noah's stiff prick bumping against his butt cheek, as the older boy pressed himself close and wrapped his arms around his young master. Noah's hands played over Powell's chest, rubbing his hard nipples, and wandered lower, across his flat belly, to brush softly over the white boy's hard, pink cock.
"Go on and set down on the grass, Cassie," directed Noah. "Mastah Powell, why don't y'all follow her down there, and lay where y'all can look at her pussy."
Like puppets on strings, the servant girl and the preacher's son moved into the suggested positions. Powell felt Noah's hands caressing his ass cheeks, and heard the black boy say, "Wouldn't y'all like to lick her down there, Mastah Powell? Tastes like honey, I hear."
Cassie's legs spread wide, opening her target to the white boy. Dazed with lust, Powell dipped his head and licked along the length of Cassie's cunt slit. "Ohhhh!" she gasped, and rolled her head from side to side in bliss.
Powell's tongue circled the girl's hard clit button, making her moan aloud. He barely heard the black boy spit, but he felt a wet finger circle his butthole.
Powell lifted his head and looked around. "What are you doing there?" he asked.
"Don't worry," Noah tried to reassure him. "I'm just gonna make y'all feel good. Y'all just go back to lickin' that honeypot."
Noah spit again, and slowly shoved his wet finger into Powell's hole.
"Ngggh," the white boy grunted, but he didn't take his tongue from Cassie's cunt.
Noah's cock throbbed in anticipation. He knew about the gossip concerning his daddy. He'd asked his mama, but she had just smiled and said, "Your daddy is a good man, and that's all y'all need to know."
He couldn't be sure, but the idea that he might be about to fuck his younger brother was even more exciting than screwing his boss's son. He pulled his finger out and spit again, and pushed the slimy fluid into Powell's pink hole with two fingers, wiggling them inside the tight channel. As he pumped his plundering fingers in and out of the hole between the smooth, white cheeks, he heard Powell moan and watched his head move faster. Cassie was jumping around like she was sitting in fire.
When Cassie shouted and pressed Powell's head tight against her cunt, Noah figured the time was right. He pulled out his fingers and spit in his hand and rubbed the slime over his own cock. He positioned it at the white boy's asshole, and rubbed it in circles. When the pink flower opened, and the purple head of his cock pushed inside Powell's butt, Noah reached his slippery hand around to slide along the young boy's hard prick.
Cassie was still hollering, and Powell was groaning and grunting, as Noah pushed his cock deeper into the white boy's channel. He pulled back and pushed again, and saw more than half of his tool vanish inside his little white brother's hole. Noah wiggled his hips and drilled his cock another inch into the tight tunnel; he was pleased to feel an answering waggle of Powell's butt. Together, they worked the long black pole to the bottom of the white boy's virgin ass.
Cassie's orgasm had subsided, and she raised herself on her elbows to watch her brother pump his cock into Powell's bottom. The young master pushed himself up to his elbows and knees, and Noah knelt erect to drive his shaft into Powell's hole.
The white boy dipped the fingers of first one hand and then the other into the black girl's sloppy pussy. He lingered a moment to tweak her sensitive clit between two wet fingers, making Cassie moan and drop her head back onto the grass.
Powell squirmed forward until his wet, slippery hands could caress the hard nipples on Cassie's firm breasts. He dug his face into her pussy, smearing it with the black girl's slimy juices. Powell slid his tongue in and out of Cassie's cunt hole, in time with her brother's strokes of his hard, black cock into the white boy's ass.
Noah pumped his rod in and out of Powell's warm, slick butt channel. He reached between his two companions and rubbed his hand through his sister's pussy juice that coated the cunt-licking boy's chin. The black boy slid his slippery fist along the length of Powell's hard, pink dick, making the white boy moan.
Powell flailed his tongue into Cassie's sloppy pussy, driven by the hot fire built in his dick by the black boy's stroking fist. Behind him, Noah's hard cock dug deep into the tight butt hole of the preacher's son.
Cassie was thrashing around, crying aloud, as the white boy's hands and tongue drove her to orgasm. Powell was driven to the edge of excitement by the black girl's ecstasy. Her brother's flailing fist and plunging cock pushed Powell over the brink.
Noah felt the younger boy's prick throb in his hand. The pulses of Powell's jism surging through his cock sent the black boy off as well. Noah drove his hard pole deep into Powell's tight ass, and pumped his black seed into the white boy's clenching butt.
Finally, exhausted, the three teenagers collapsed into a limp pile of spent flesh. Powell nuzzled Cassie's flooded pussy slit, while Noah nibbled at the blond boy's neck.
After a while, Cassie wriggled out from under the weight of the two boys who lay on her hips.
"I've got to get back in the house now," she said. She got up and picked up her towel and walked around the corner of the shed.
Noah lay quietly on the back of the white boy, his softening cock still buried in Powell's slippery butt.
"That was a sin, Noah," said Powell.
Noah pulled his limber dick back, and then worked it forward into the depths of Powell's hole. Powell groaned, and squirmed against the black boy's groin.
"It was a damned sin, Mastah Powell," Noah said.
He drew back and withdrew his cock from Powell's ass with a wet plop. Noah scrambled to his feet, and when the white boy rolled over, Noah offered a hand to help him up.
"We better get dressed now, Mastah Powell," he said.

Mind Games
Have you ever seen the movie "Star Wars"? Remember the scene where Obi-Wan waves his hand at the Stormtrooper and he does what Obi-Wan says? Well, I can do something pretty much like that. I can plant thoughts, suggestions and urges in people's heads. They believe that the thoughts I give them are their own, so they obey them without question, even when this leads to previously unthinkable or unbelievable actions. Who, after all, would disobey himself?
I discovered my power by accident one day on the school bus. I was sitting across the aisle and a few rows behind a kid named Tyler, a gorgeous little hottie I'd been dreaming about the whole year. To while away the long ride, I had covered my lap with my backpack and begun to dream up another fantasy about my favorite boy. In my mind I had a clear picture of Tyler on the bus, slipping his hand down his pants and jerking his hot cock until he flooded his undies with cum. My eyes had glazed while I was dreaming, so I didn't notice what was happening until it was over. In my mind, Tyler had just coated his hand with a nice creamy load, when back in the real world I heard a girl shriek "Eeew, gross! Tyler peed his pants!" I blinked and focused on my idol, only to see him staring blankly at his hand, which dripped with the cum that was now seeping through the front of his khakis. I couldn't say who was more shocked, me or him, but when his stop came he fled the bus in tears.
Over the next few weeks I explored my power whenever I could, testing its abilities and limits. I found I could control another person completely by planting thoughts step-by-step, or I could plant a general idea and let the person carry it out. I could also sort of broadcast a general suggestion to all the people in the area that they should ignore what I don't want them to see. I'd like to say that I used my power for good, to help the helpless and defend the powerless, but I can't. As you would imagine, being a teenage boy, I use my power to have fun and get some. It's the best way of staying awake in class, too...
"Watch where you're going, dipshit." I bounced off Eric's shoulder and into the lockers. He laughed and kept walking down the hall, keeping up with his friend Pete. The two teens were almost twins: about six feet, both heavily muscled and both with blond hair and blue eyes. They were, of course, jocks, and as such had very little regard for anyone smaller or smarter than themselves. They were a couple of the biggest sluts in the school, and were currently fucking their way through the cheerleading team, trading each girl in when she got too boring or clingy. Hmm, not bad looking, even with all those muscles...