Dreams of the Chinese Room
The oversized room was decorated in a tasteless mishmash of New Mexico pueblo and Chinese restaurant. Paper globe lights cast a comfortable glow over the room, filling in any shadows left by the muted sunshine coming through gauzy curtains which skirled in a lazy, sensous dance from an inflow of cool breezes through the open windows. The walls hung with tapestries in a Chinese fire drill of colors — the floor of dark, polished wood showed through the gaps between large southwestern rugs in their muted shades of rust, turquoise and adobe.
The furniture consisted entirely of day beds and tiny, round, three-legged tables. The beds were not dressed for sleeping, but were ornately draped in quilted, pastel coverlets, and lots of plush pillows with bright red tassels. There was soft music, perhaps a slow waltz, coming distantly from another room. The air was pleasantly fragrant with flowers and patouilly.
I rolled away from the windows and their curtains, through which I could only get a hint of bright blue sky and distant horizon. I imagined myself as being on the second or third floor of an expensive hacienda owned by a chinaman with a bizarre sense of humor. The rest of the room that had been unseen behind me was more of the same: day beds with white painted scrolled ironwork sideboards, diminutive coffee tables with doilies, and Navaho Indian rugs scattered about seemingly at random. Between some of the day beds were ornate Chinese privacy screens. On some of the tables were slender vases of flowers (chiefly tulips), and small bottles of oil.
Despite the outrageous decor — the interior designer must have been quite insane — the room had an uncompromising charm, an exotic delight to it.
I was comfortable on one of the day beds, the coverlet beneath me a dusty peach color, a pillow under my head. As I lay wondering why I was here, I heard voices faintly from the region beyond my feet. Raising my head an inch, I could see that I was not alone. At the near end of the room, a woman reclined upon another of the narrow beds, propped up by pillows. She was sipping a glass of wine and talking to someone whom I could not see, someone I presumed to be not in this room. The woman had an attractive, somewhat motherly face, the kind of face that men intuitively trust. She was wearing a brightly colored silk kimono that was open to the waist. I could faintly see the shadows of generous breasts beneath the material.
Another sound from over my left shoulder caused me to crane my head in that direction. Partly hidden by the sideboard of their day bed, a couple was making love. He was clothed in what appeared to be pajamas, the top buttoned, the pants pulled down to his knees. She was wearing a kimono, and otherwise naked, the kimono spread out flat beneath her as the wings of a butterfly. She was caressing his head, running her fingers through his hair and murmuring soft words I could not make out, as he intensely positioned his loins between her wide spread knees and entered her.
I became intensely aroused at the sight of them having sex so very casually in a room so obviously deficient in privacy. I could feel my member stiffen and become erect. Glancing down, I saw that I was wearing loose, silken pajamas much as the other man was. My erection made a tent of the pajama pants. In the next instant, the fly of the pajamas slipped open, exposing my hard, naked organ.
With a total lack of self-consciousness (I truly had no concern if anyone should see me), I reached down and began stroking myself even as I looked back at the man and woman. He was thrusting into her with a slow, sensuous rhythm, her breasts rocking gently back and forth. For just a moment, the man glanced in my direction and smiled, then turned his attention back to his partner. His thrusting became more vigorous until eventually, with a half-dozen baritone grunts, he finished himself into her, then melted down into her arms with a sigh.
The sight of them lying nearly motionless, did not provide visually erotic stimulation. I was still masturbating openly, but I knew that I wanted much more than mere self indulgence.
I peered once more at the first woman, the one at the other end of the room. And I was suddenly aware what this room was, and its purpose. This was the Chinese Room.
Clearing my throat, I called out softly, “Contessa?”
The woman lowered the wine glass from her lips and met my gaze. A smile blazoned on her affectionate face. “Ah, senor…”
She sat up and put her glass down on a round table. She arose with the swiftness of a gazelle and stepped gracefully toward me. Her breasts jiggled sensuously beneath the thin kimono. “I see you are awake, senor. What can I do for you?” Her voice was low and pleasing and as smooth as the silk of her kimono. She talked as if she knew me well, with the easiness of an old friend. She sat on the edge of the bed next to my hip and grasped my erect penis in her warm, gentle hand. A thrill ran through me and I looked up into her eyes.
She was thirty-something, and devastatingly beautiful in an underspoken way. Her auburn hair (almost red) was held up in a victorian bun with several ivory pins, creating a soft halo of red highlights upon her head. A long, curly strand of loose hair fell down on either side of her face, triggering the notion of what it would be like to have all that hair cascading upon me. Her eyes were gray-green, with long lashes. Her nose was freckled. Her wide mouth was lightly painted red.
She smiled and I was instantly seduced — in love with this radiant creature whose real name I did not know. She looked approvingly at the erection that throbbed visibly in her hand, and gave it a gentle squeeze before re-establishing an electrically intimate eye contact. “What can I do for you, my darling? The same as before? Or something different?”
The first idea that flashed through my mind was, I wanted to make love to this woman more than I wanted life itself. The second idea was, have I already had sex with her?! The third was, how did I do it with her before?! — I could not remember. I could remember nothing — not how I got here, where here was, nor how long I had been here. Oddly, all that did not seem to matter.
I said nothing, but reached up and parted her kimono enough to see one full breast and part of the other. Still smiling, she tugged the end of the sash with her free hand and pulled the kimono aside to reveal a soft and slender body, untanned, lush and voluptuous. Her breasts hung full and taut, apexed with large, dark brown nipples. Her hips were nicely flared but not large. Her pubic area had been neatly trimmed of all excess hair. She smelled of musk and lavender.
I reached up for her breasts and, as if reading my intention, she bent forward to make them more accessible. They were as soft as clouds, yet pleasingly massive. I caressed them roughly. She arched her head back like a cat being scratched between its shoulder blades. She purred.
“You love my body, senor. That pleases me very much. It makes me very excited.” Her soft, husky voice bore no hint of Hispanic influence, any more than her facial features or skin color did. Somehow, I knew that all men in this place were addressed as “senor,” just as all the women were addressed by their brothel pseudonyms.
Her eyes twinkled. She released my penis, which truly needed no further physical stimulation, and sidled closer, leaning over me as if to invite further exploration of her breasts. So, I took one in each hand and squeezed them. I pulled them gently toward my mouth, and in the next moment felt her straddle me. Her breasts filled my vision totally, they played lasciviously over my face, rubbing against my cheeks, the nipples seeking the hunger of my mouth. While suckling with single-minded obsession, I felt her jostling softly, felt my penis being touched. I was sliding slowly into her warmth, until my manhood was totally immured within her.
I wondered how I could be so deeply mated with her while still suckling at her breasts — she hadn’t appeared that tall. I craned my head back and looked up into her face.
“Ah, senor…you make my job such a happy one,” she whispered huskily. “Suck harder on my nipples, please.”
I did, and was rewarded by vaginal spasms that suckled at my stiff manhood.
This tableau was broken when the Contessa began moving against me so that my hardness thrust in and out of her ever so slowly. She was a woman of exquisite talent. Despite my best efforts to hold back, I was quickly spewing my seed into her. My eyes clamped shut and my back arched. It was heavenly.
She continued her slow, serpentine fucking even after I had collapsed beneath her, my orgasms fully spent. Then she kissed me, her tongue doing to my mouth what my penis had done to her vagina. It was almost enough to get me hard again.
She nestled beside me, one leg thrown comfortably over my thighs, her face in my neck. She murmured sweet tidbits of love and erotica into my ear. Though I was unable to make out many of the words, her meaning and intent came through perfectly clear. Her pillow talk was a lazy, drifting stream nestled in a dark wood, and my mind was a helpless leaf floating down that rapturous stream.
When she sought to arise, I took her arm. “There’s something else I’d like to do,” I said. And then I described the oral liberties I wished to take with her genitals.
She only smiled broadly, looking at me through batting lashes and whispered, “Of course, my darling senor. Anything you desire is yours.” She lay on her back, pulling her knees up high to expose herself to me. Her pubic hair was fine and dark and trimmed quite short. It was damp with her excretions and my semen. Her beautiful pink labia were partially open, like the petals of an exotic orchid. The sight and fragrance of her began to arouse me again.
There is a way I like to ‘eat’ a woman: after the usual licking (which I consider mere foreplay) I gently suck the labia into my pursed lips like so much pasta. I suck until I can just feel them tugging. Then I force them back out of my pursed lips. I do this repeatedly, with increasing speed, moving only my tongue. The Contessa moaned pleasantly, then gasped. I suppose she was surprised that I was truly exciting her beyond any mundane expectations. Her fingers caressed my head.
Her breathing became heavy and her back arched ever so slightly in a sensuous tidal rhythm. Her pelvis relaxed beneath me, which I took as a sign of sexual surrender. As I sucked and expelled her labia, I rocked my head slowly from side to side so that I was pulling at her genitalia in a varying direction. She gasped again, and I locked in on that direction.
By varying some tiny detail of my cunnilingual exertions, and listening for some sign of her increased arousal, I inexorably zeroed in on the maximal stimulation. Her breathing was now hoarse and grunting. She rocked her head from side to side while moaning words of endearment in Spanish, French and what sounded like Arabic. Then her entire body clenched and she threw her head back savagely, emitting a loud, mournful moan. Her thighs clamped around my head, which kept my mouth imprisoned to her cunt even as her pelvis twitched violently.
I reduced both the force and the rhythm of my ministrations. She had a number of orgasms, each progressively further apart. I heard her beg me to stop, but her hands and thighs would not let me go. I slowed to the point that I was just barely moving my tongue lightly over her labia, but was able even then to elicit another powerful orgasm from her. I stopped, and relaxed my face upon her warm, fragrant crotch. My neck was quite tired and I had to catch my breath as well.
After an endless moment during which I almost dozed off, the Contessa came to life and was soon nestled beside me, her head on my shoulder.
“Senor, it has been a very long time since I’ve known a man with such oral skill. You have pleased me very much.” I bent down and silently kissed her forehead.
“Senor, would you do me a favor, por favor?” She arose on one elbow to look down at me. I nodded.
“I have a daughter. She wants to work here even as I do, and I am training her. I have told her many times of the joy that can be had at the lips of such a man as you. But, alas, she has never encountered such a gentleman. If I call her in, would you please…do for her what you did for me?”
My penis which had been semi-hard off and on for some time, now sprang to full erection, a fact not lost on the woman in my arms. She reached down and fondled me tenderly.
“Does the thought of making love to my daughter excite you, senor?” My erection answered her by throbbing sharply in her hand.
“Wait for just a second, my darling. I will get her. She is not far.” And she arose, planted a kiss on the head of my stiff penis, sashed her kimono about her and walked toward the near end of the room. She disappeared around a corner.
I took advantage of the time to look about the room. The original couple had disappeared, but two other day beds were now occupied. At the far end of the room, a large, naked black man wearing several gold chains was having energetic intercourse with a petite oriental woman. He was squatting on his heels and holding the woman’s hips up to his crotch in massive hands — her ankles were locked around his neck. He was muttering something to her in a deep voice that was a distant rumble of basso thunder. She gasped repeatedly in a little-girl voice as they both stared in fascination at the rhythmic union of their sexual organs.
In the adjacent bed to my left was a threesome. Two young men with Mediterranean complexions, obviously twins, stood on their knees facing each other. Between them was a young black woman — she had luxuriously braided hair and small, perfectly rounded breasts with tiny nipples. She was supported on her hands and knees. One twin had entered her from behind, and the other was lazily fucking her mouth. Neither seemed in any hurry to achieve orgasm, their movements being slow and sinuous.
The nearest twin smiled in my direction and spoke quietly, as if to preserve the magic sexual spell of the room.
“My brother and I, we much enjoyed watching you making the oral sex on your lovely whore. You were…how it say…putting in a great showing. You did making our dicks most excitement!”
He did not use the word “whore” in a deprecating way at all. In fact, he spoke it almost as an endearment. Nor did he seem to be ‘coming on’ to me, though he looked unashamedly at my naked erection, which I was casually stroking. It occurred to me that there was a magic spell in this room, a spell that removed all self-consciousness, all fear of rejection, all sexual phobias and misgivings. There was definitely something about the ambience of the room, despite its weird clash of decors. Perhaps it was the tapestries, that I now saw depicted men, women, animals and mythological satyrs sexually conjugating in every possible combination.
The young man who had spoken to me, shifted his stance slightly so that now I could clearly see the wet shaft of his penis sliding in and out of the dark girl’s thick, purple lips. He looked again at me, smiling — and nodded as if to invite me to enjoy the sight of his being sucked. So, I looked, and found the sight fascinating and exquisitely arousing.
“You like watching our whore do the sucking me? Is she not beautiful? Her mouth is like the heaven. You must trying her yourself. She makes me…she makes me…” And with that, his face screwed shut in a spasmic grimace, his teeth showed, and his pelvis began a fast thrusting rhythm. Semen gushed from the girl’s mouth and down her chin.
After he collapsed back onto the bed, the woman (whom I now knew was named “Chocolate”) turned around to the other brother, offering her lips to his stiff, damp penis. She rubbed her face against it, kissed it, caressed his testicles, all the while plaintively telling him how much she desired to taste his seed in her mouth. He needed no encouragement.
I had half an inclination to ask if I could fuck the black woman from behind while she fellated the second twin. But with that thought, I heard soft footsteps approaching. I sat up and turned as Contessa and a pretty girl of perhaps sixteen arrived at my day bed. The girl had long golden hair and a charming face that bore witness to her mother’s mature beauty. She wore one of the ubiquitous kimonos — it was sashed tight enough that I could see her nipples pressed through the fabric.
“Senor, this is Desire, my daughter. When I told her of your skill, she became very anxious to meet you.”
The girl was blushing profusely, and smiled up at me through bangs and long lashes. I took her hand in mine, and indicated she was to sit next to me. I put my arm around her waist.
“Desire, you are very beautiful — just as beautiful as your mother.” She blushed again and her mother smiled approvingly.
She spoke shyly, “Are you going to…to kiss me…between my legs, like my mother said?”
I nodded. But what I said was, “Would you like that, Desire?”
“Yes, please,” she whispered so softly, I could barely hear it. She glanced down at my lap where my penis was still at full erection. She glanced up quickly at her mother, who gave an assent with her eyebrows, then looked back at my penis. She gently grasped it in her petite hand and fondled it lovingly.
“You have a beautiful prick, senor, and I feel your great sexual need. Would you like to fuck me? I would be honored to have you spend yourself in any part of my body.”
Contessa stroked the girl’s hair and said, “Very good, Desire. Now open your robe and show the senor how beautiful you are.”
The girl complied with some eagerness, allowing the kimono to slip completely from her arms. She was heart-breakingly lovely, with firm, pointed breasts shaped like champagne glasses. Her bright pink labia showed through transparent wisps of blonde hair. She leaned back on her elbows and spread her legs so that I could appreciate her total nakedness.
Contessa passed the back of her hand over the girl’s cheek, then lovingly caressed one of Desire’s conical breasts. “Is she not beautiful, senor? Is she not desirable?”
There was no need for me to say anything. I slid my hand down the girl’s thigh and pressed it into her genitals, two fingers sliding effortlessly into her vagina. Her womanhood was already quite warm and moist, just like Contessa’s had been. I briefly wondered how they did that.
I began by laying myself down beside the girl and kissing her. She was every bit as good a kisser as her mother. Then I lavished kisses upon her breasts until her breath came heavy. I knelt between her opened legs and took her labia into my mouth. She tasted clean and sweet. I noticed out of the corner of my eye that the twins and Chocolate were watching with rapt attention.
As I had with Contessa, I slowly and methodically brought the girl to higher and higher levels of arousal. I hooked one arm around her raised leg so that I could play with one of her tits while I ate her pussy. Contessa lay on the edge of the bed, and began to gently kiss Desire’s other breast.
The girl’s breathing came harder and deeper until she began to spasm and moan. She ground her pelvis into my mouth so that I had to take pains not to bruise her with my teeth. Despite her youth, I was able to stretch her orgasms out even farther than I had Contessa’s.
As I rolled over, the twins applauded me. Both had raging erections — Chocolate was sedately and expertly masturbating them with hands generously lubricated with scented oil. The twin who had as yet not spoken, ejaculated onto the floor between our day beds.
I accepted their approbations, then felt hands upon my own erect penis. It was Desire, who was positioning herself between my legs. I spread my knees for her. Her glowing little face descended upon me, and she took my organ deeply into her mouth.
Contessa approached closer on the bed and began caressing the girl’s head and giving her words of encouragement and coaching. I reached under her, found the end of her sash and gave a tug. Her kimono fell open.
“Contessa,” I said, “I want you up here.”
She smiled and slipped off her kimono. She leaned over my face, letting her soft, fragrant breasts sway and brush against my cheeks. I took them in my hands and wallowed my face in them, sucking hard upon her swollen nipples, all the while enjoying the sensation of Desire’s mouth pumping up and down on my manhood. When I came, I spewed forth a copious volume of semen, which Desire swallowed to the last drop.
Later, but I have no reckoning as to how much later, as I lay in the arms of my Contessa, I noticed the sky outside the curtained windows had dimmed and grown red.
“I must go soon,” I said to no one in particular.
Contessa nodded and kissed my cheek. She spoke softly in my ear, “My daughter was very impressed with you. I’m glad you pleased her so. And I’m glad that we have pleased you. Do you wish to leave now? Are you through with me?”
“Well, almost,” I replied thoughtfully. “Is there any chance that I might see you and Desire again tomorrow? Would you mind if I…if I had full intercourse with her?”
She took on a mock expression of offense. “Senor, how dare you even ask such a question! Of course you may fuck Desire. I insist on it! And I would like very much to be there and watch. And participate, if I may.” She inflected her last statement as a question, her eyes beseeching into mine.
“You horny wench,” I laughed. “I would be delighted to fuck both you and your daughter.”
My renewed erection pressed against her thigh. I rolled over on top of her, guided by her willing and eager body. I entered her, enjoying the silky lubrication provided by my previous ejaculations. I covered her mouth in mine, entwined our tongues and began moving within her. I entertained a vision of doing this same act tomorrow to Contessa with her naked daughter watching, and then repeating the act to the daughter while the mother watched. A shock of intense arousal flashed through my body.
Contessa moaned and ground her hips up against me. Somewhere else in the room I heard flesh slapping against sweaty flesh and a pair of voices crying out in passion and release. I increased the pace of my fucking.
The alarm clock went off with a dismal buzz. I arose slowly from my dream state, up through multiple levels of consciousness, pulling the memory of my dream with me. The last shred of my vanishing vision was Contessa’s face imploring me to…imploring me…to what, I do not know.
I held tight to that final image as my semen exploded into my fingers.
– – –
I cannot begin to describe the depth of my disappointment at the realization that the last several hours had been but a hallucinatory by-product of my sleeping brain. A dream, yes, but a dream of striking clarity and corporeal solidity. I do not remember ever dreaming with such exquisite detail. Nor have I ever, to my knowledge, achieved orgasm during sleep without the prelude of the act itself awakening me. The fact that I had achieved several copious orgasms was evident from the stains on the sheet and the thick, musky residue of half-dried semen that coated my left hand. I deduced that I had masturbated in my sleep, providing physical stimulation to enhance the erotic visual images.
But the tactile experience of my fuckings of that night, as remembered, was not the crude rubbing of a dry hand on penis. It was an electrically sensual contact with moist mucus membranes, with the slick, writhing interiors of mouth and vagina. And I could remember the taste and texture of their genitals in my mouth as if it had truly happened.
It was quite beyond my understanding. And I felt grieved that I would never see that room again — nor Contessa and her daughter — nor any of the other participants. Dreams never repeat, or so I believed.
How could I know how wrong I was?
The rest of my day passed in a fog. I was late for work as the circumstances of my awakening confounded my attempt to shave, dress and depart on schedule. Images of the dream, Contessa’s eyes for example, kept flashing through my mind, interrupting my concentration, interfering with the task at hand. I stayed in the office until almost dark catching up with my assignments. I went home exhausted. After a light supper and a hot shower, I climbed naked into bed with no premonition of what was to come.
– – –
The oversized room was decorated in a tasteless mishmash of New Mexico pueblo and Chinese restaurant. I was overcome with an intense deja vu. I had been here before. I had lain on this day bed before. And worn these pajamas. This was…this place was the…the Chinese Room, of course. How could I forget — how could anyone forget the Chinese Room?
I sat up and looked around slowly, so as not to announce my presence unduly. To my right, a large black man lay flat of his back, the soles of his feet toward me, a woman with paper-white skin and flaming red hair astride him. As her taut buttocks rose and fell in a vigorous rhythm, I saw revealed the thick, ebony shaft upon which she was rectally impaled.
In a distant corner of the room, two men with identical appearance were in animated conversation with a petite and beautiful black woman bearing perfectly round breasts.
Closer at hand, a powerfully built boy, quite young I think, certainly in his teens, was enthusiastically plowing into his consort in the classical missionary position. The woman seemed familiar to me, as most of the residents of the room did, but she particularly so. I felt a strong pang of emotion that was at once desire and jealousy. I could not take my eyes off her.
She was perhaps my height and size, with luxurious breasts and lovely auburn hair. She appeared to be old enough to be the boy’s mother, and was participating in the fuck with a wild and authentic abandon. Her nails raked his back, leaving long, white scratches. He grunted loudly and obscenely with each thrust into her, as a bull might possess a cow during the rutting season.
With much thrashing and animal noise, he achieved a remarkably prolonged orgasm — nor did her pleasure appear to be any less than his. He rolled off her and expired, trailing a long gossamer strand of mucus between their genitals. Had I not seen his chest rise and fall, I would have thought him dead.
She raised up on her elbows, smiling giddily. Her head turned slightly and she saw me. Catching her breath with some effort, she met my gaze and said, “Senor, I am so glad to see that you have returned. I hope my little tryst was entertaining.”
I had to admit to myself that I had enjoyed the performance, and it had certainly aroused me. My organ even now was fully extended and throbbing almost painfully beneath the loose silk pajamas. Her name came to me. Then, as a door suddenly thrown open to the light of day, I remembered by own rendezvous d’amour with her the time before. This was Contessa, my Contessa, of the Chinese Room.
She arose, casting her kimono loosely about her, and sat down beside me.
“I have missed you, senor. I am glad you returned to keep your promise to us.”
I clumsily asked her what she meant, to which she artfully replied, “You promised to return and make love to me and to my daughter, Desire. She was worried that you would forget.”
I remembered Desire! My penis throbbed again, finding the opening in the pajamas and thrusting itself into the open air. Contessa’s hand closed softly about it.
“And who is this boy?” I asked with some trepidation, fearing that the handsome stranger had somehow replaced me in Contessa’s affections.
“He is my nephew, my sister’s boy. He has had a crush on me since he was ten. Today was his sixteenth birthday. He came to me and asked if I would be his first woman, his femme’la’alnilam, the experienced woman who traditionally introduces a young man to the pleasures of the flesh. He was so charming and vulnerable, I could not refuse him. You do understand, senor, do you not?”
My jealousy faded away as if it had never been.
“Your nephew? Truly?”
She nodded and smiled, all the while compelling me to shed my unnecessary pajamas. I lay back naked and aroused upon the pale turquoise coverlet of the day bed.
“We of the Chinese Room often have a child or two, usually when we are quite young. It is not unusual for us to train our own children in this joyous enterprise, or each other’s children, as I just have for my sister.”
“And your sister is here, too?” I asked.
“Certai’mon, senor. My sister, Rosebud, is just there.” And Contessa nodded her head to my right. Rosebud was none other than the pale redhead consorting with the black gentleman. They were coupled again, with much noise and spirit — she in obeisance on her knees, her partner thrusting into her from behind. Bending over her compliant form, he had seized a breast in each hand. She was every bit as voluptuous as my Contessa. And in another matter was also much like her sister, in that her apparent enjoyment of the sexual act was profound.
I turned to Contessa. “Do all the women in your family love sex so much?”
Before answering, she playfully took my penis into her mouth and slowly slurped its entire length.
“All the women and men in my family are devoted to all forms of the sexual act. It is our religion, our food. We have lived and loved here for uncounted generations, senor. Soon, I shall retire, but my daughter shall take my place.” Her glance was suddenly distracted to a point behind me. “Ahh, here is Desire now.”
I turned to see the child enter the room like a vision swathed in glory (the multi-hued light that occasionally surrounds the full moon on cold winter nights). Her kimono was nearly transparent and floated about her as if it had no weight of its own. Beneath the fabric, I could clearly see a chain of gold about her waist and golden ribbons entwined about her thighs. There were several fingernail-sized flowers of brilliant scarlet imbedded in her hair, and one more imbedded in the sparse thatch of golden flax between her legs.
Her cheeks were flushed, and an eagerness shown out through her eyes, which were locked onto mine. She came to me, bent down, snuggled her young body against mine, and kissed me full on the mouth. Our tongues embraced like long lost lovers. After an eternity, she withdrew, leaving me shaking with intense sexual need. Apparently, the kiss had affected Contessa, too, as she was practically hovering over us, breathing deeply, one hand pulling upon her own nipples, the other busily buried within her sex.
Mother and daughter looked at each other.
“Are you ready, Desire? Is this the one?”
Desire grinned back, “Yes, momma, he is the one. I have chosen.”
Before I could ask what they meant, Contessa clapped her hands and beckoned to the rest of the room. The other couples (and trios) approached and took up beds surrounding ours. There were three couples now, including Rosebud and her black stud, and two trios, including Chocolate and the randy twins. The other trio was composed of an oriental woman and a dark skinned man, both incredibly handsome, bound together by a short gold chain affixed to their leather collars; and their…for want of a better word, ‘client’…who was an effeminate if muscular man of great height. And of immense genital proportions, for truly I had never imagined that the male human organ ever achieved such girth.
I suppose I and my entourage now comprised a foursome, for Rosebud’s son had awakened at the clap and joined me and the two women on my day bed.
It is here that I must interject the oddest observation. The day beds had the strange property in that they were always adequate for the number of people upon them. When I did lie alone, my day bed was not quite wide enough to accommodate two people, yet roomy enough when Contessa joined me, and now of a bountiful size appropriate for four people! It was the largest bed in the room! How this was accomplished I was never to know.
Contessa announced clearly to all, “My daughter has chosen this day to join us in our eternal service to…” and she uttered a name strange to my ears. “And this man shall be the first to plant his seed within her. I call for wine and entertainment!”
From several entrances that I could not see, servants (if that is what they were) entered with trays bearing fruit, nuts, cheese, breads and bottles of green wine. They were male and female; some of them children; several of the adults partially or totally nude; most of them strikingly attractive; a few with disfigured or oddly distinctive features; and one woman disarmingly handicapped. To be specific, she had no arms at all. She brought in a variety of fruit in a basket with a large handle which she grasped in her teeth. She gracefully set the basket down on the table beside my bed and winked at me. I found her strangely alluring.
Then we commenced to be entertained.
This consisted of each of the other couples (and trios) performing sexual acts for our amusement and stimulation. And yes, I was amused and I was extremely stimulated. Rarely were my inflamed genitals without caressing fingers or lips. At one point, even the golden boy, Contessa’s nephew, tenderly stroked my manhood — I must admit that I did nothing to discourage his attentions. I, in turn, played my part by lavishing frequent kisses on mouths, breasts and pudendas as the opportunity arose.
Chocolate was first, taking her oddly accented twins into her vagina and rectum simultaneously, one twin beneath her, the other kneeling above and behind her.
Rosebud poured oil from one of the tiny bottles that dotted the small, round tables upon her breasts, then bent over backwards from a kneeling position until she was bent almost double. Her man (his skin was of the darkest black imaginable) knelt over her face and thrust his long erection between her ample breasts which he clasped together around his penis with immense hands. His eventual ejaculation covered her entire torso.
The effeminate giant allowed his chained consorts to arouse him to full erection with their hands and tongues. (For there was no way he could ever fit in their mouths!) Then he stuffed himself between the oriental woman’s legs and began to fuck her and hungrily fellate the dark-skinned man at the same time. This was not as easy as it sounds because the chain that bound his two consorts was not of great length.
And so it went, each performance eliciting oohs and aahs from the rest. Between the succulent fruit and the heady wine, I attended to my two women, fingering and tonguing them to high plateaus of arousal, and then leaving them there without release — at their insistence. I was somehow able to maintain a constant state of intense arousal, myself, without ever reaching orgasm. An amazing feat considering how much I was fondled and sucked during that time.
Contessa and Desire each masturbated the golden boy once, and during the last of the performances, he quietly joined Rosebud and her ebony lover, and was masturbated by his mother!
Contessa clapped for attention. “And now for the finale, I give you Desire, my beloved daughter and only child!”
A peaceful quiet descended upon the room. It seemed that there existed only the golden-haired girl and myself, though from my peripheral vision fifteen pair of eyes watched my every move. In some part of my mind, I realized that I was the final performance for their entertainment.
There was no need get Desire excited, as she was practically feral with sexual heat. Indeed, I was not more placid myself. I ripped her kimono to shreds with a single gesture, and covered her nearest breast with my mouth. I’m sure I bruised her with my tongue, but I could not help it. I worked my mouth down her body until I arrived at her crotch and plucked the tiny flower from her pubic hair with my teeth and spat it away. Her labia and clitoris were dark and engorged, and drooling with her internal secretions. The ribbons about her thighs formed a kind of frame around her genitals.
She tasted wild and exotic, her musky fragrance filling my nose and then my brain. A slight dizziness threatened to overcome me, and I lost my peripheral vision and all the faces therein.
I mounted her as if in apoplexy, unaware of anything but this young woman and my unmanageable lust. As I drove my penis inside her, I felt a temporary barrier, and then a subtle tearing of flesh. Desire was a virgin! She let out a cry then wrapped her legs around my thighs and pulled me into her with great force and urgency. I plunged in to the hilt and felt the head of my cock press against the upper wall of her uterus.
And then with fast, long strokes, I fucked her. I was almost blind and deaf. Was it the wine or some sexual black magic? I was present only to the feel of her vagina sliding up and down the shaft of my stiff organ, and my desperate, indeed, painful need to achieve the release of orgasm. I was fighting for breath, but I could not slow down. Through the roar in my ears, I could only make out my breathless grunts and Desire’s answering cries of passion.
And then finally I came. I could feel the great volume of semen flowing down and through my penis, I could sense the rush of it, the strain of muscles deep with my groin squeezing the raging river of thick fluid out of me. And again. And again. And again. Each ejaculation was no less than the one before. I sensed her vagina fill with my semen, perceived it squirting out onto my testicles and thighs.
What followed is not clear at all as I was under the influence of strong drink. I remember laying on my back and being mounted and fucked by Contessa, and also perhaps by her sister, Rosebud. And at least once more by Desire. I vaguely recall my exhausted penis and testicles being repeatedly massaged with a warm oil that also contained a pepper-like heat. Each time this was done, my erection was restored, almost as it were, against my will.
My memories deteriorated to random vignettes of breasts, faces, pussies, and the palm of a large black hand.
I awoke with a great mantle of fatigue draped about my mind and a splitting headache.
The alarm was insistently declaring itself. When I apprised myself of the time, I realized that I had overslept by nearly three hours.
– – –
I phoned in sick to the office, and indeed, I was not faking it. My testicles ached as if they would burst. My penis was painfully numb, although I know that sounds like a contradiction in terms. A liquid rumbling in my gut presaged the likelihood of loose bowels. The bedsheets were a sticky, sodden mess of semen, mucus and god knows what other bodily fluids. And there were traces of blood on my penis.
The latter ignited within me a shivering fear. Instinctively, I knew the blood was not my own.
But the thing that fanned the flames of my fear into an all-consuming terror was the small, bright scarlet flower I found on the floor next to my bed.
I would not allow myself to sleep. I showered repeatedly in water so hot that I was near scalded, then soaked in water so cold my teeth clattered. I paced the floor. I took shots of herbal tonic and rye whiskey. I swallowed aspirin. I watched the television to the point of boredom. I attempted to jog and lift weights, but the pains in my groin and gut forbade me. I brushed my teeth and gargled with rinses, but to no avail. The taste of sweet human cunt would not leave my mouth.
I was frankly scared. The intensity and detailed reality of the dream was beyond acceptance — and beyond any denial. And I cried piteously. For despite the fear, despite the somatic upheaval, despite all trepidation — I wanted to return. I yearned to throw myself back into that carnal pit with Contessa and Desire. To exist apart from them was unthinkable. And yet, how could a dream be in any sense real? How could I be so obsessed with phantasms of my imagination?
At last, my exhaustion dragged me to my bed, which I had stripped down to the mattress. Fully clothed, I surrendered to the inevitable. But my only dream (that I recalled) was of floating through an immense shopping mall, filled with merchandise that could not be moved, searching for something that I could not name.
After several nights of “normal” sleep, I was tempted to put the whole affair behind me.
– – –
The oversized room was decorated in a tasteless mishmash of New Mexico pueblo and Chinese restaurant. I knew immediately that this was the Chinese Room, and I was in no way alarmed or afraid. A few of the paper globes were glowing, their pale luminescence supplemented by the bright moonlight coming through the curtains. I stood up and cast my eyes about, but I appeared to be alone.
Stepping to a window, I parted the curtains and gazed outward. It was a semi-pastoral scene before me, reminiscent of renaissance etchings I had seen in books. There were several structures, none of more than three stories, all with tile roofs and italian arches, separated by parks, piazzas and pastures. The many trees, set out in neat rows, were tall, phallic spear points — jet black in the glistening moonlight. Very romantic, very beautiful, very serene.
Small, whispering voices broke the silence behind me. I turned to see a couple enter the room, walk about halfway toward me, then collapse in a carnal tangle upon one of the day beds (which magically extended itself to accommodate them). I approached and uttered a modest “hello.”
They were not startled. It was Chocolate and the golden boy whom I knew as Contessa’s nephew. They were both nude, and he was visibly aroused, yet they gladly set aside their own sexual agenda to greet me warmly. With delight, they each in turn threw their arms about my neck and hugged me, the golden boy unabashedly pressing his erection between my silk-clad thighs as he did so.
Chocolate assured me with great conviction that Contessa and Desire would want to see me, and she instructed the golden boy to run and fetch them, which he eagerly set out to do. As soon as he was gone, Chocolate bade me sit beside her. I asked her many questions, for I felt a strong urgency to know where this place was, and the source of its titillating sorcery, but her answers were for the most part vague and unsatisfying.
What I did glean was that many men (and women) from “my” world were occasionally drawn into “their” world (one marked by a worship of sensual delights). Those who made the crossing typically did so just once in their lifetime. These Earthly visitors came from no particular time or place, nor in any predictable pattern. But they were always welcomed, their sojourns always appreciated. And on those rare occasions when a male showed up more than once, and demonstrated some pleasing sexual skill above the average, he was chosen to participate in a deflowering ceremony, a conception ceremony, or as in my case, a combination of the two.
Conception? Yes. Desire was carrying my child!
My excited declarations of incredulity were interrupted by Chocolate’s oiled hand slipping inside my pajamas and lovingly grasping my sexual member. The first sensation of the oil’s biological heat swiftly charged me to full arousal.
“Senor, I am still quite young enough to bear a second child, and I was most envious watching you with Contessa and Desire. It will take them some time to arrive from their villa. Would the kind senor please do me the honor of demonstrating his oral skills upon me, and then…impregnating me. Please? I am not unskilled myself, and I will do my best for you. I would love to bear your child.”
In a trice, I was naked, for it did not occur to me to say no, or even to consider that as a possibility. In retrospect, the oil, though it undoubtedly had aphrodisiac qualities, was not entirely to blame for my behavior. The young black woman was in fact beautiful beyond description, and she was a lioness of erotic sensuality. Wherever I touched her, I could imagine electric currents flowing between us, currents that excited me mentally more even than the oil had excited me physically. To press my whole body against hers was an indescribable ecstasy.
While laving her breasts with my tongue, I could not help but notice that what I had taken for ribbons around her upper arms and around her neck, and extraordinarily large aureoles around her small nipples, were in fact tattoos of awesome intricacy and art. They were a repeating scrollwork of interwoven lines in black, purple and maroon. The craftsmanship was utterly precise, and the affect upon her flawless brown skin was exquisite.
As my oral ministrations progressed down her exotically scented body, I noticed another small tattoo around her navel, and intricate Celtic knots in red and black on her inner thighs, and above and juxtaposed to either side of her genitalia. She had no pubic hair at all. Not a trace! Her crotch was as glabrous and bare as a baby’s bottom — and just as soft. I wallowed my face between her thighs, painting myself from chin to eyebrows with her fragrant juices. And then I teased her delicious labia in and out of my pursed lips, coaxing her slowly to orgasm.
She pronounced me the greatest master of cunnilingus she had ever met!
After a brief respite, she declared confidently that her “egg” was ready and invited me to mount her, whereupon I enjoyed a most delightful fuck, coming so hard that I saw spots dance before my eyes.
She was artfully bringing my member back up with the magic oil, when footsteps entered the room. It was Contessa, Desire and the golden boy, bearing candled lanterns. I was instantly smothered in hugs and kisses and women’s joyful tears. I could not believe the size of Desire’s belly, when she opened her robe to show me — she was near ready to deliver, her breasts swollen beautifully with milk! I asked how this could come about in only a handful of days.
“Darling senor,” said Contessa, “time and space do not coincide between our worlds. For us, it has been eight circuits of the moon since last we saw you.” Then Contessa and Desire both dropped their robes to the floor.
“The hour is late, senor,” smiled Contessa, “but at the very least, we ask you to allow us to welcome you back in our own fashion.”
And so the erection that Chocolate had skillfully given me, and intended for her own cunt, was destined instead for Contessa’s cunt. And while I fucked her, Chocolate and the golden boy suckled hard at her breasts so that her coming was replete with a symphony of shrieks and moans.
Afterwards, I caressed and kissed Desire’s burgeoning belly, then fucked her with my lips and tongue while Chocolate and the golden boy finally completed their original plan for the night.
In the quiet that followed, Contessa turned to Chocolate and looked at her strangely. Then she reached out her hand and slipped it between the black girl’s open thighs.
“Chocolate, are you…? You are! You’re pregnant!” She withdrew her hand. “This is most recent, is it not? Who is the father?”
The black girl grinned wide and looked over at me without saying a word. All eyes turned upon me.
“Senor,” deliberated Contessa, “this is something of a marvel. Not in my lifetime nor that of my mother has a man from your world impregnated more than one woman in our world!”
My last memory of that night was the familiar feeling of Contessa mounting me, guiding my organ into her for the third time. Her magnificent breasts slapped and pummeled my cheeks as she vigorously fucked me. A few seconds after our mutual orgasms, she seemed to evaporate from my arms. I tried to open my eyes but I could not, for I knew that if I did, I would only see the lonely walls of my own room in my own world.
The buzzer went off. I threw the alarm so hard against the wall that it shattered.
I cried myself back to sleep.
– – –
And life went on as it always had for me in the “real” world. I periodically underwent therapy when the heartbreak was too much. I tried to enter into relationships with women, some of whom loved me, but it was never satisfying for very long. I took the occasional lover, especially when they reminded me of Contessa or Desire or Chocolate. But more and more, I kept to myself. The years went by, my career plateaued, then began to slide into mediocrity. Fortunately, I was able to retire early, before the growing indifference of my labors became obvious.
I never moved from that apartment, even though the neighborhood went to the dogs. I was afraid of losing some connection or “alignment” with the other world if I relocated. But eventually, I had no choice. The block of apartments was sold and we were all evicted in advance of the arrival of the bulldozers.
I figured that a mile was as good as an inch, so I moved far away. To northern Italy, in fact. I learned the language and got a job in a bookstore in a small town surrounded by grape vineyards. But not because I thought the “other world” was near here. No. I knew better than that. Perhaps I just felt at home among the tiled roofs and stone arches and sparkling green wine. Truly, I had not thought of Contessa and Desire in many years. I’m afraid I had lost all hope. I was merely awaiting death as peacefully and comfortably as I could afford.
– – –
The oversized room was decorated in a tasteless mishmash of New Mexico pueblo and Chinese restaurant, and I did not recognize it for the longest time. I was standing next to a day bed watching a brown skinned young man making love to a beautiful girl with pale mustard skin, oriental eyes and jet black hair. Her hands and the heels of her feet pulled him into her with each thrust, until they both explosively achieved orgasm with amorous shouts and groans.
There were other couples having sex or just lounging on other day beds, but I had eyes only for the young couple so close in front of me. They were so very sensuous and sexy. I became quite aroused, but all I did was stand there and watch.
The girl was the first to notice me. With the dark boy still atop her, and presumably still inside her, she smiled up at me. She reached up with a petite hand and freed my erection from my pajamas, and fondled it lovingly.
“Ahh, senor, I see that our fucking has pleased you and aroused you. Your prick is so big. Perhaps you would like to spill your seed within me? Yes? Would you like me to suck you?” I only nodded.
At a touch from her, the dark boy rolled off to a seated position and watched while the girl sat up on the edge of the bed and took my stiff manhood into her lips. Her hot tongue swirled expertly over my penis as her mouth slowly slid down and up the length of my shaft. I laid the palms of my hands on her head, felt the fineness of her hair, and began to slowly thrust my pelvis in rhythm to her sucking. I could feel my testicles being gently massaged and stroked.
The dark boy evidently enjoyed the view. In fact he moved to the side where he could get a close-up view of my organ sliding in and out of the girl’s mouth. He looked up and we exchanged glances and smiles.
And it was the feeling of my face smiling that really brought me “awake,” as it were, in the Chinese Room. At that moment, I became mentally as well as physically present to my surroundings. I looked around, startled, knowing the place for what it was, realizing that I had, after so many, many years, finally returned. In that same moment, my orgasm was upon me, my semen spewing down the shaft of my penis and into the oriental girl’s throat. She doubled her rhythm, all the while humming and purring with pleasure. I nearly blacked out from the exquisite torture of it.
And I heard a scream. “Senor!! It is the senor!! Contessa, he is here again!!”
I held on to a nearby siderail to avoid falling, so overtaken was I with the dizziness that followed my prolonged ejaculation. The oriental girl, her eyes wide with surprise, and a single drip of semen oozing down the side of her chin, turned around to find the speaker. Feet were running in my direction.
I opened my eyes again, just as a beautiful black woman, perhaps in her early twenties, came up to me and grabbed my arms. Her kimono was fluttering open to her waist, where it was loosely sashed. Her breasts were perfectly round, the size of my fists, and there were exotic tattoos around her small, pointed nipples, neck and upper arms.
“Chocolate?” I asked indistinctly, for I had not found my voice. “Chocolate?” I repeated, this time more clearly.
She nodded enthusiastically. “Yes! I am Chocolate, and you have returned to us! Do not leave!”
Someone else was running over. It was none other than my Contessa, naked as the day she was born, seemingly not a day older than the last time I saw her, a veritable river of semen and mucus running down her thighs and matting her neatly trimmed pubic hair. Without speaking, she ran directly to me, throwing her arms around me and hugging me to her tightly.
Chocolate, Contessa and I stood there, weeping freely, laughing uncontrollably, holding on to each other for fear we would be torn apart. A long moment later, Desire announced her arrival with hard slaps of feet to the floor, and then there were four of us.
After the tears had subsided, we made ourselves comfortable on an unoccupied day bed. The sweet oriental woman who had so delightfully fellated me upon my arrival quietly joined us, causing the “magic” day bed to expand just enough to accommodate her. I don’t believe I remember ever seeing her before then.
That was not the end of surprises. I declared my astonishment that the three women I knew looked not a day older after my absence of thirty years. But it had not been thirty years for them — it had been only a little more than one year. Desire had given birth to a beautiful daughter, and Chocolate a beautiful pair of twins (boy and girl), who they all swore looked just like me, except for their milk chocolate skin.
Contessa clapped for refreshments. Again the armless woman brought in a basket of fruit, and winked salaciously at me. Again we drank the green wine. Again the warm oil was lavished upon my genitals and I grew big and hard again. I fucked Contessa as if it would be the last act of my mortal life. Failing to die afterwards, I fucked Desire in a wild and exhibitionist stance while Contessa fondled my balls and Chocolate suckled at Desire’s breasts. Failing to die after that (and I nearly felt that I might!), I bundled Chocolate up on her knees and gave her such a savage fuck in her tight rectum that there were whoops and shouts from everybody in the room. And then I gently suckled her sweet cunt lips until she burst into tears of joy.
And so we continued for some hours, the warm oil always rekindling our spent passions, until such a time as we were literally coated in oil from head to foot. Even the oriental woman, whose name was Lotus, enthusiastically joined us, masturbating the hungry cunts that I wasn’t fucking at the moment, and offering up her delightful mouth to me on several more occasions. And I was never at a loss for semen to fill them all up with.
During a break for wine and food, I asked Contessa where the Chinese Room was. Or what it was.
“Senor, this is the place that men and women of your world come to when they have intensely real dreams. Often those dreams may be sexual, but always they are powerfully sensual — perhaps with the hearing, or touch or smell. Many arrive here but are not fully present. We call them ‘sleepers.’ It is said that they will not remember their dreams when they awake in their own world.
“But some fully awake in this world, an event that we always cherish, for then we know that the love and kindness we bestow will be taken back into the other world. We remember such visitations, and pray that somehow they will return to us. Rarely do they return.
“But you returned, senor, not once, but twice! And conceived three babies! Unprecedented! And we prayed daily at the altar of…” and she repeated that strange name that I could not quite hang on to, “…for you to return. And you have returned the third time!”
She kissed me passionately, tasting of mango and ripe pear and fruits that I had no name for.
“Another question,” I pleaded, “how come is it that I do not feel or look sixty years old?”
I parted my legs in response to Desire’s unspoken request to have oral contact with my penis. It began to stiffen in her mouth almost at once.
Contessa blessed the union of myself and her daughter by caressing the girl’s hair.
“It is usually the case, senor, that each visitation is manifested in the same body as the first visitation. To us, you have not aged at all. And indeed you never will, unless…”
Desire had gotten me fully erect again, and despite all my previous ejaculations, I felt ready and eager to come again. The sight of her beautiful nude body, all slick with oil, and her radiant face impaled so lustily on my prick was a source of unlimited visual delight.
“I won’t age unless…?”
“Unless you choose to stay. Then you will be in our flow of time.”
The pressure in my loins was rising. I knew now that my orgasm, when it came, would be accompanied by as great a volume of seminal fluid as the others had. Which is to say, a great deal of fluid, indeed!
“Yes! I want to stay, Contessa! Forever! Just tell me how!”
“There is but one way, senor. At the moment of sexual extremis, you must drink the milk of a woman who has just had your child. Chocolate is still nursing her babies and has a great flow of milk.”
The erotic charge in my groin was building faster than I could halt, so exquisitely erotic was the skill with which Contessa’s daughter sucked my member.
Through gritted teeth, I declared, “Yes! Chocolate! Come here, darling! Give me your milk!”
And she bent over me, her wonderful, wild smell in my nostrils, her soft breast in my mouth, and then warm, redolant milk was flowing down my throat, and my penis spewed forth a river of seed into Desire’s hungry mouth.
– – –
And here I have stayed.
It is indeed a beautiful world on this side of sleep’s great chasm, without any of the painful vicissitudes that ensnarl us in the “real” world, except for death itself, and even that is never painful here, only peaceful. I work in the Chinese Room whenever I wish, welcoming the female visitors (and sometimes the male visitors!) in our unique fashion, providing every carnal pleasure that they wish for. I live with Contessa in a lovely villa not far away. Sometimes I come to the Chinese Room just to watch her offer her gorgeous body to the visitors that flicker in and then flicker out of existence. And when she is dripping with their semen and slick with their saliva, I take her into my day bed and give her a final fuck of appreciation and worship.
Desire has born me another child, so now I am a father of four!
About a month after I arrived here for the last time, I had a dream, a particularly realistic dream. I was floating over an Italian landscape that I recognized, passed the bookstore where I had worked, and entered my old apartment. There were two doctors and my landlord around the bed. An old, wrinkled caricature of myself lay under the single sheet like a limp rag doll.
He’s dead, I heard one of them to say. Another pulled back the sheet slowly.
Will you look at this, he exclaimed in the local Italian dialect. Is that semen? Could a man that old have spat that much from his withered balls?
A doctor said, there must be at least a liter of fluid here! This is incredible! How could it be?
The other doctor shook his head. He said, even a young man could never ejaculate this much in one night. The shock of it must have killed him. I can see no other reason for death.
I floated away and the entire scene faded from my mind.
I opened my eyes in my new world, snuggled warmly between Contessa and the armless woman who we frequently invite to share our bed. Contessa took one look at my face and asked, “What did you dream about? I can see it in your eyes.”
I paused a second.
“Nothing of importance. Something old has passed away. But something new is rising with the morning sun. And I rolled over on top of her, and joyously entered my Contessa’s body as if it were the first time ever.
– – – – – – – – – – – – – –
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