Chapter 3
It does not last.
There is a pulling apart, a sense of separation, of actual bisecting, as the spasms of their shared climax subside.
So that the one becomes two.
So that they look into each others' eyes with... embarrassment.
To fuck, okay.
To do the other guy (gal) a favor, fine.To get one another off, why not?
But this, this... other, well, that was, not, is not supposed to happen.
They are bodybuilders, for heavens' sake.
And a bodybuilder is a taker, one who is constantly adding to himself.
Adding size, adding shape, adding bulk, adding definition.
Adding to that which is, enhancing, improving it.
Feeding sexual gratification to himself as part of his super-healthy regimen.
An essential process, the exercise of the sexual function.
Necessary to hormonal balance, to circulation, to the ability to concentrate on the program. That, and nothing more.
So then, what the fuck was that?
What was that supposed to mean, to do for them? Francine says it best, as they lie there, side by side, cooling off, recovering their breath.
"That was-uh... something else."
"Sure was," he agrees.
It was great, is what it was, greater than it had any right to be, greater than either of them wants it to be, at the moment.
Each tries to rationalize now.
Hey, teamwork is what's needed here, right? But this was more than just teamwork.
Teamwork is intended to provide a pairing, a simple addition.
You add this to this, you get this.
The whole of a quantity is equal to the sum of its parts.
Nothing more, nothing less.
So then, just what the fuck is this supposed to be? What the hell happened?
Because they were transformed.
They started out as themselves, they "ended up as themselves, but in between, something happened, something unlooked-for, possibly something unwanted.
They gave.
They gave and gave.
Perhaps they gave too much.
Perhaps any giving is too much, in their case. "Tomorrow a rest day for you?" she asks.
"Is now," he replies, matter-of-factly, no humor in it.
"Good thing, too," she says, looking up at the ceiling.
"You got that right."
"Tell you what," King says, anxious now to get to the bottom of this thing, "Let's hose down, come back, and try again."
"Right," she agrees.
Try again.
Meaning do it right this time.
Meaning not lose their fucking minds.
Meaning not make of one another more than they are.
Because this is no good.
This is a distraction of the kind which could throw them off.
Supreme concentration, reserved for the workout, for the most intense periods of working out, for the crucial moments of an exercise or a program, has been diverted, possibly even misused.
No good. Not right. Something very, very wrong here.
And now, as they shower, they eye each other clinically, critically.
And find-no faults!
Amazing!
Try as they might, there is nothing either sees on the other which they would want to see changed.
Each of them carries the checklist upstairs.
They can normally go, head to toe, and automatically, almost as though by reflex, say exactly where this or that part of the body can stand improvement and what must be done to achieve it.
But here, now, all is apparent perfection.
Disturbing. Very disturbing, in fact. Almost as Disturbing as that aberration, that illusion that occurred back there in bed before.
And it won't do, really.
This cannot be, not without some suspension of their powers of judgment, powers crucial to them if they are to succeed in their chosen avocation, soon to become vocation.
So that now, this next fuck becomes all the more important.
What are they doing, anyhow, looking at each other through what the songs call the eyes of love? And now, they dry off.
And go back into the bedroom, two bedroom athletes about to perform their sport.
A good, a healthy way to look at it.
The only way to look at it, dammit!
And now, they lie down and embrace one another.
Not tenderly, but much as wrestlers would "lock up" As their upper, their free hands, explore one another.
And each once again realizes the ideal present in the other.
Because it can only get so good for them before they are in the grip of their natural, their archetypal preferences.
And they soften toward each other.
Because, after all, this is not really a compromise.
Rather, it is what it is-a realization, a making real, of that which they had until now viewed as ideal.
And there is nothing wrong in this, any of it.
It is, after all, their own ideal in whose presence they find themselves.
So that this other complies, fulfills, embodies those standards which they themselves have posed for their ideal sexual opposite number, their coun- teiparts- So that what they are seeing is basically an extension of themselves, of their thought processes. And therefore, why not?
Why not extend the concept of extension to the body?
On balance, the contest for which they are to train seems the ideal expression of what they have here discovered.
Which is that they are indeed a team, perhaps in more ways than they were at first prepared to admit to themselves.
They were prepared for cooperation, for collaboration.
But is not part of such teamwork the changing of themselves from individuals to an organically functioning pair?
They are very well suited physically, as Randy Buck was quick to realize.
But their teamwork must go beyond that.
The judges must be able to view them as a functioning entity, rather than as two individuals moving in concert.
They must create the same aura of belonging together as do competitive ballroom dancers.
Still, that doesn't necessary mean-well.
Let's get through this next round and then we'll see.
This time, it is Francine who is on top.
It is Francine whose tongue is doing the travelling, first around each, of King's nipples, stretched from the mass of the pectoral muscles beneath them.
And now, she explores the cleavage of his massive chest.
And now, she tongues his abdominal muscles, going lower and lower.
And now, she encounters the head of his cock, laying on top of the slab of his stomach muscles.
She takes it into her mouth, sucking it like a lollipop until the shaft behind it twitches to vibrant life.
As her hands explore the vast muscular masses of his bulging thighs.
And now, she is sucking his cock.
Up and down, up and down her head bobs, sucking him juicily, avidly.
And now, she has him at full, throbbing erection, one hand around the thick base of his meat monolith as she feeds him to herself.
Better, he thinks.
He has had this before.
It does not upset his orientation or perspective. It makes him hot without his losing any of himself, without giving up anything.
And now, she straddles his cock, a foot on either side of his hips as she lowers himself.
And King feels a thrill in the pit of his stomach at the sight of her, muscles gleaming dully in the indirect lighting of the bedroom.
And the magic begins anew.
The magic.
Meaning that special attraction, that magnetism between them, literally drawing him to her with a strangely intense desire, as happened their first time around.
And now, she feeds his prodigious prong up, up, up into herself as she settles down on him. And leans forward, her legs straddling his.
And he takes her into his arms.
And one arm clasps her to himself as the other explores her back and buttocks.
And he helps her movement as she rotates her hips, round and round, reaming her cunt with his rigid pole.
So that he grasps an ass cheek, moving it around ,and around with her hips.
And he is fucking her.
And more than fucking her, screwing her in, installing her onto himself.
And it is happening again, the unification.
He is not feeding her to himself, taking and taking. Rather, they are coming together, united in body and spirit.
Because the feeling is here, is here and hot and growing within him, within them.
And there is no fighting, no escaping it.
Because it is something that he wants with a desire that seems to him something ancient, something that has been within him since there first was a him, so great is his hunger, his thirst, his eagerness to possess her.
And not as some much-wanted object, something he covets.
Rather, it is as a part of himself, as something integral to his very being, that he desires her.
There is an aura of joy and of desperation.
Of joy because he has her now, is in physical possession of her; of desperation, because he feels an almost aching need for her, a need which will not be met, will not be fulfilled by this or any other temporary possession.
So that this is more than a joining, it is a fusing. It is a total commitment, intense but unspoken.
It is a coming together, a magnetism of such force that it seems to King that nothing can ever break its power.
And to Francine as well.
Because she finds her powers of judgment becoming obscured.
Her self-awareness is shifting, is softening, is being externalized.
So that she feels herself not as whole and free but as a part of something else.
And she knows only too well what that something else is.
It is this, this... thing that she became with him the first time.
Which could have been an aberration, caused by King's overwhelming presence, his uncanny correspondence (now that she has seen him) to -her ideal, combined with the novelty of what was happening, what was about to happen between him and her.
But if it is, if it is a delusion of some sort, then it is most certainly being repeated.
Because she cannot get enough of him.
She cannot draw the sensations from his cock fast enough.
She cannot give him enough action.
Her mind is awhirl, dizzy with her own desire for him.
She wants nothing so much as to draw him into herself, to fuse with him forever.
She could keep this up forever and ever, she tells herself, so good, so, so... complete does it feel.
As she continues to ream herself with his cock.
And now, she varies the motion, pumping her hips up and down, forcing the huge cock on which she is impaled to piston in and out of her, each thrust a fresh thrill, a zing of sexual electricity.
She reaches behind her, playing with his balls, locked tight to the base of his turgid invader, as though to stuff him entirely into herself.
And now, she puts both arms around him, clinging to him tightly as her hips vary their motion, now up and down, now around and around.
So that she is propelling them onward and upward.
They are rising higher and higher up the rainbow of their shared arousal.
And they are aware of this, of the sharing, of the emotional response within the other.
So that they are at the same level of stimulation, moment by moment.
Locked in each others' powerful embrace, Francine's hips free to move and doing so in an unthinking rhythm of arousal, they feel the shared pleasure growing within them.
And now, it comes.
It.
The pleasure within the pleasure.
And they know it, they recognize it for what it is and do not fight the feeling.
So that now, he is coming and coming, his sperm and the hot, clear pussy juices of her pussy causing him to move more and more easily within her, stretching and filling her vagina.
As she too comes and comes, her multiple orgasms shaking her again and again, in unison with the spasms of his discharge.
And they drift back down the rainbow together, coming back to earth.
And this time, they separate more slowly, more casually.
And she is merely mystified, rather than embarrassed.
As is he.
Because there is nothing to be ashamed of here. The reaction may not be understood, but there is nothing shameful in it, surely. _ As they recognize that first response for what it was, a sense of weakening, if not of weakness itself.
But now, they know that that is not true.
They are not being weakened by this sudden finding of value in another.
They are not diminished by it.
And if a crass, commercial, uncaring outsider such as Randy Buck can see that they do in fact belong together, then surely there is no reason for them to fight the feeling.
Or is this opinion too but a thing of the mood and the moment?
And now, they are not so quick to get up either, the same languor of their separation extending to its aftermath.
But they do get up at last.
And shower together.
She fully intends to leave.
He fully intends to get dressed, to drive her back to her car.
But, in the event, that is not what happens.
Because there is too much of him, of her, of them, to let it go just yet.
And yes, there will be other times, other nights.
And yes, they know that they will be seeing a lot of one another.
And yes, there is high enthusiasm here for their training together, competing together.
But all, all this are things to come, things of the future.
And they have each other, right here and now.
Right here, right now, they have everything they want or need, on one level, the sexual.
And they know it.
And things happen, things of which we have no inkling, but which could very well interfere, intervene, even cancel what they have in each other, what they are and can be to, for, with each other.
So that it makes no sense, it is a crime against economy of resource, to break things up now.
Make hay while the sun shines, the saying goes. And right now, the midnight sun of their passion is shining full force.
So he does go back to bed with her, she with him, the team together.
And this time, it is unhurried, almost tender, considering the muscular mass of the behemoths involved.
As King wants more and more of her, more than even he has had thus far tonight.
And she does not resist, in fact welcomes his attentions as he slides down her back, tongue exploring the deep indentation of her spine.
And she does not resist, in fact welcomes his attentions as he insinuates himself, flat on his stomach, between her legs.
And wallows his face in the crack of her ass, tongue extended.
And sucks her ass hole, taking it into his mouth as his tongue rolls round and round over the even segments.
And seeks their juncture with the tip of his tongue.
And forces it in, in, into her.
So that he can feel the heat of her interior.
So that he can feel the moist, soft, yielding tissues of her rectal wall.
So that, wriggling his tongue around and around, he can relax the ring of muscle at the entrance and begin loosening her up.
And now, grasping the flared bell of her hips, he pulls her hips up, up, up, until they are as high, as far back as he can get them.
And still he rims her, making a meal of her ass hole.
And now, he is giving her a finger wave, stretching her still more.
Until he knows she is loose enough to accommodate him.
Another King first, he thinks.
Ordinarily, he would coat his cock with baby oil and ram it in.
For any and every other woman, but not for this one, not for Francine.
Because her he wants to know, to taste in intimate detail.
There is no part of her he does not want to know physically.
And even now, buttoning his plum of a knob into the vestibule of her ass hole, he hungers for her, ardent in his desire to unite with her, to become one with her.
And now, rotating his hips and pushing slowly forward, he goes into her, the battering ram of his cock head parting the walls of her rectum, stretching and filling her as it goes.
And he is fucking her in the ass, pumping in and out of her, communicating with her, his cock with the sleeve of her ass, millions of nerve endings, his and hers, in contact with each other, stimulating each other, one on one.
So that there is an intimacy here, the warm, wet, smooth, all-encompassing grip of her bowels jerking off his pounding pud as it has never been jerked before.
It is like a blowjob and a regular fuck combined, the full, even contact of the one combining with the full penetration of the other.
But still, he wants more of her.
So that now, he releases one hand.
And reaches down and around.
And hefts one solid boob in his hand, rolling it round and round, squeezing it, feeling its nipple go hard in his hand.
And now, going on to the other one, repeating the process.
And now, moving. his hand back, back over her abdominal muscles, back over her stomach. Seeking and finding her joy buzzer.
And he twiddles it between two fingers, feeling it enlarge, as it goes firm.
And he keeps his fingers right there, finger fucking her cunt gently, rubbing the clit back and forth as he does so.
Her first ass fuck.
But not her last, she realizes, whether it is with King or somebody else that she does it.
Because he is stimulating her clit from both inside and out.
And he is again possessing her thoroughly, above, behind, around, below her.
So that here it is again, the sense of completeness. And she releases her mind now.
She gives in to the body, to the messages of feeling, of sensation, that radiate in a million silent voices, within and without.
And she feels, for the first time, that it is all right to do this.
Because King is someone different, someone with whom she can do this.
The first two times, such release was involuntary, surprising even herself.
But this time, there is no such surprise.
Rather, there is an acceptance here.
As that combination of calm and excitement, hunger and satisfaction which is the hallmark of great sex once again inundates her.
So that now, she feels herself rising through level after level of her arousal.
And she knows that this is right, that her body has discovered with King a truth, a truth which is of feeling, of sensation, a truth which only the body can elicit, can solicit from another, from just the right other.
And King is also getting hotter and hotter.
So that he redoubles his efforts, fucking her in the ass, fingering her cunt, faster and faster.
Until he is humping her all out in the ass. As he drives toward the home stretch.
As he summons the pleasure within the pleasure from his innermost depths.
As he allows it to bloom within himself untrammelled, holding back nothing.
So that it is filling him, supplanting his arousal with its overwhelming presence.
As the pressure of it builds and builds toward the pleasure beyond pleasure.
And this pressure, this feeling, this complex of pensations is transmitted to Francine.
Who knows that she, that they are on the final rise, that elevation, that soaring of the spirit into the realm of their shared sexual paradise which will cause them to Come and come and come.
And they both welcome it, even as it takes them over, jerking them this way and that, mindless puppets in the throes of a total passion.
Up, up, up they go.
And slowly, in gentle, delightfully twinging stages, they descend.
Back on earth, where he has ridden her all the way down, they lie there, he on top of her, fully inserted, not moving.
They lie there, cheek to cheek, recovering their breath.
As slowly, his cock detumesces within her.
Until it is expelled by the peristaltic action of her bowels, which shit his huge, flaccid dong like a giant turd.