Cassandra Duffy
&
Lizzy Dark
This is a work of fiction. Names and events are entirely a product of the author’s imagination. Any similarity to any person, living or dead, is completely coincidental, and pretty unlikely considering there are spaceships, plant people, aliens, and time travel in these stories; it’d be pretty neat if these stories were true though.
Published by Day Moon Press at Smashwords
Astral Liaisons. Copyright © 2011 by Cassandra Duffy. All rights reserved.
No part of this text may be reproduced or used without written permission excepting brief quotes for critical articles or reviews. You can, however, read it aloud to or around women who might enjoy it, especially if you have ulterior motives.
Day Moon Press, Los Angeles, California, 2011
Edited By: Nichole Mauer
Cover Design: Katiie♥Kissglosse and Cassandra Duffy
Internal Artwork: Katiie♥Kissglosse
Other Books by Cassandra Duffy:
Demons of Paradise
&
Coming soon, the full-length novel…
The Gunfighter and the Gear-head
For Nikki
Preface
I was working a marketing/promotions job in Venice Beach in 2010 when a man I was working with looked into the sky and completely freaked out. The moon was out during the day. Apparently, nobody had ever told him the moon did this. He became convinced something was very wrong. It was difficult to talk him down from his position that the moon was behaving abnormally, and that we didn’t actually need to call NASA or the President about it. I marveled at how such a peculiar superstition made it so long in his life without ever being corrected. The peculiarity of his reaction soon became common place as possibly one in seven passersby who overheard him also looked skyward and had the same reaction.
Sometimes the moon is out during the day…
Lizzy Dark is my night self, the yin to my yang, my Scene Girl persona, the alter ego I use when Cassandra Duffy is too sweet, demure, or otherwise insufficiently bitchy. Exotic clothing, press-on tattoos, piercings, and extreme makeup are involved in the transformation. She is not, however, a real person. This book is a day moon, my two halves writing stories of science fiction romance and erotica with a 1950’s sci-fi comic book twist. Select your stories based on your mood: sun or moon.
Growing a New Garden ~ Lizzy Dark
Unimportant Important Things ~ Cassandra Duffy
Ffffzzzzbbbttt ~ Lizzy Dark
Escaping the Colony of Hot and Cold ~ Cassandra Duffy
Of Pirates and Politicians ~ Lizzy Dark
The Flesh Menagerie ~ Cassandra Duffy
The Gunfighter and the Gear-head ~ Lizzy Dark
Punch Drunk and Hungry for Love ~ Cassandra Duffy
By Lizzy Dark
Nightshade lured Clover to the edge of the city, on the waterfront, with the promise of a gift. Nightshade was to take down the rule of sixteen and return a hero—she was already Clover’s hero. In public, Clover was a lily—long, blond hair in a ponytail, tall, leggy, a little on the plain side, with alabaster skin, and a thin face—although it was not her true face. Nightshade held no such illusions, even in public. Standing at the edge of a water-level dock, Clover felt comfortable in the pencil skirt, blouse, and heavy coat of a lily. Nightshade, dressed in skin-tight, black, leather pants and a silk, purple blouse entirely unbuttoned save a single, yellow clasp right between her breasts, walked down the dock toward Clover, an alluring swagger in her step. She was the princess of poison, the top agent of their cell, and Clover’s most deeply held desire.
“You promised a present,” Clover said.
“I love you as a lily.” Nightshade pulled Clover close by the front of her coat. Her long, delicate, artistic fingers, found their way up to Clover’s face and neck, caressing the soft, lily skin in sensual strokes. “It feels like fucking the establishment in more than just a metaphorical way.”
She giggled, she couldn’t help it; Nightshade’s fingers were tickling her. Her aggressive lover’s good mood was infectious, and Clover momentarily forgot the promise of a gift or the fact that Nightshade was wearing her own face out in public. She leaned in and kissed the gold-flake lipstick lips of her lover. Nightshade’s hands snaked their way inside Clover’s clothes, up her skirt, between the gap in her coat and blouse, and onto her skin. Clover loved Nightshade’s hands, loved their dexterity, and warmth, fantasizing about them often.
“Tonight changes everything,” Nightshade promised in a whisper against Clover’s ear.
There was no way to respond other than to hold on when Nightshade’s wonderfully talented hands finally find what they sought beneath Clover’s clothes. Masterful fingers flicked away her bra in a wink. Her breasts were laid bare, not only to Nightshade, but the cold of night as well, and Clover wouldn’t have it any other way. The warmth of her lover’s hands fought against the bite of winter air blowing in off the frigid bay in such a delightful tug of war that Clover didn’t know if her body was responding to arousal or hypothermia.
“Promise me…” Clover gasped.
“I promise,” Nightshade said, flicking her tongue along the underside of Clover’s ear.
“Do you love me?”
“As sun and water.”
Clover wanted to believe, but moreover, she wanted to hear Nightshade say the words. Her protests, formulated carefully in her mind, evaporated when Nightshade’s fingers flicked aside the fabric of her panties, and tickled against Clover’s desirous pussy. Clover floated on equal parts cloud and Nightshade’s fingertips. Nightshade’s other hand found its way up to Clover’s hair and began stroking through the long, blond tresses, releasing the ponytail to run her fingers the length of the straight, silken hair. Clover felt a wave of euphoria from the sensual act, combined with the taunting of Nightshade’s fingers along her increasingly wet slit. Clover wrapped one leg around Nightshade’s waist, hiking up her own skirt in the process. Her lover supported Clover’s weight easily, so strong even in her slender, natural state. Clover knew what Nightshade wanted, knew what she was waiting for, and knew she would do it. She began rolling her hips, fucking herself onto Nightshade’s long, slender fingers. Her lover murmured her pleasure in the act, resuming playing with Clover’s hair as a reward for obeying.
With every roll of her hips, she felt herself getting wetter and wetter until Nightshade’s fingers were sliding easily in and out of her, touching at the deepest parts that craved to be touched most. When Clover faltered, trembling on the edge of ecstasy, Nightshade backed off, forcing Clover to resume her lewd fucking motions to bring herself back to the brink. The teasing delayed her climax, but built its strength as well. Nightshade was a master of beleaguering the penultimate pleasure to drive Clover’s orgasms to deeper intensity. The frustration Clover felt in the moment when her climax was denied was always well-rewarded when Nightshade finally did let her come.
But this time, Nightshade let her draw right to the cusp, and, rather than backing off, stopped entirely. Clover clawed at Nightshade’s shoulders when she felt her lover’s finger slip from her.
“No…” Clover groaned. “…why?”
“When I come back from my mission, we can finish this,” Nightshade whispered. She placed her drenched fingers against Clover’s mouth. Clover licked her own taste off them as she knew Nightshade wanted. She liked the taste of herself, fresh, like spring, but she liked the darker taste of Nightshade better.
“You owe me a present.”
“Are you sure?” Nightshade held up Clover’s hand to show a small, gold ring had already been placed on her right ring finger.
“It’s beautiful,” Clover said.
“It’s my poison to carry with you always.” Nightshade kissed her, deep and strong, her hands insistent in kneading Clover’s ass until Clover was ready to hop onto Nightshade’s fingers again. “Until tomorrow, my love.”
Tomorrow came, but Nightshade did not return from her mission.
~₤~
Clover walked among the many propaganda signs lining the walls of the government square. As she strolled she read the signs quietly to herself, her breath escaping in small puffs of steam with the speaking of the mind numbing words. Grasses should strive to achieve happiness through stillness while it was the patriotic duty of perennials to display constancy. When she found a sign significantly frosted over from the blasting winter winds, she stopped. The message was obscured enough from the white film of snow and ice to require cleaning.
Turning up the collar of her black, wool pea coat against the cold and stuffing her hands deep into her pockets, she braced herself to wait. Her right hand struck on the warmed, metal vial in her pocket. She wrapped her delicate fingers around it. The small cylinder of life was reassuring and thrilling.
People passed her without noticing. The same four faces alternating in various combinations wearing the same handful of clothing options. The government officials, office peons, and executives paid her less attention than she paid them. She was wearing the face of a lily, one of their faces.
As she suspected, a group of four ficuses came out of the side door of the capitol building, carrying deicing equipment. As the four cleaners worked, the sign’s message became clear. It was the greatest honor achievable for holly to die in the line of duty in protection of the home state. In scrolling script across the bottom of the sign, holly was also informed they got Christmas off. With the sign clear for all to read, five ficuses strolled back into the side of the capitol building.
Walking in lockstep behind the cleansing ficuses, Clover held their blue collar form. As the four cleaners turned the corner to return to their hot box to await their next duty, Clover continued straight ahead, changing shapes to mimic a lotus as soon as she passed out of the peripheral vision of the workers.
Stepping into the heart of the Center for Genetic Stability and Visual Characteristic Recognition, a drip of cold sweat ran down Clover’s back from her hair line, across her neck, between her shoulder blades, finally stopping on the small of her back. She looked like a lotus with her miniature glasses, edged black suit, sharp features, and ebony hair held in a stern bun, but it was all skin deep. As she passed through the bustling nest of cubicles she picked up bits and pieces of conversations the real lotuses were having. Agaves, coneflowers, and Apache plumes were moving up from the south, ominous to the purity of the garden, bringing in new colors, new smells, pushing out the more delicate strains found in the temperate zones of the south. Worst of all were the constant decoding of incoming threats from the azaleas, poppies, and pink mulla mullas flowing out of the Far East everyday.
The lotuses moved in small groups, breaking members off to join others, but seldom walking alone for very long. Clover took to the same behavior with the goal in mind of the entrance to the science level on the opposite end of the expansive room. Shifting again to another group heading in the same, general direction of her destination, she found herself entirely surrounded by five of the lotuses. Pushing her way out of the pack would arouse suspicion, and so she walked in the center of the loose formation with them into one of the many side rooms of the office cluster. The other lotuses changed to single-file, placing Clover in the middle of the line. As they filed past a table in the first small, white room they came to, each selected a feather from the exotic assortment before exiting through a door opposite the one they’d entered through. Clover followed suit, taking up a peacock feather on her way past the table.
Stepping through the door, her senses were bombarded in almost every conceivable way. The first thing to strike her was the scent of heavy, heady, dizzy-inducing perfumes mixing and mingling in strange and exotic ways. She could pick out individual tones, which shifted and morphed into others in remarkably seamless ways. When she acclimated, she focused on the sounds of delight ranging from bemusement and contentment to mind-altering ecstasy. Dozens of the sharp-edged lotuses, all in various states of undress, were making good use of the feathers in pollination rituals. Remarkably, under the harsh, black exterior clothing, they all wore delicate shades of pink. It was something Clover had never expected of the lotuses.
In her stunned state, still slightly intoxicated both by the perfume of the room and the orchestra of pleasured, female sounds, Clover hardly noticed she was once again being guided by the five lotuses. Their destination appeared to be a small cluster of bright green throw pillows in one of unoccupied regions of the circular room. Her curiosity, one of her more dangerous qualities, got the better of her, and she allowed herself to be led.
With feathers held in left hands, the lotuses began undressing each other with their right. Several hands found their way to Clover’s clothes, peeling them away from her in a delicate, yet business-like, manner. Clover held her own feather in her left hand and attempted to blend in by undoing a button on a blouse or jacket when one presented itself. She thought it odd that they kept their jet-black hair in the tightly-wound buns and did not remove their glasses while undressing. As she slowly turned in the middle of the five lotuses, helping to undress them as much as possible with her free hand, she found they had all turned their focus on her. Her clothes, which shifted appearance with her, only delved one layer deep without a consciousness about what a lotus might wear beneath the suit when she’d taken on the form. Nude, save her heels, she felt the hands of the five lotuses guide her onto the pillows, removing her shoes in quick succession.
The lotuses, which to that point hadn’t shown even a flicker of emotion, seemed mildly amused that Clover wore nothing beneath the suit. In their various states of undress, Clover caught titillating glimpses of several types of pink, lace bras and silky underwear on the other lotuses. They began with their feathers, working at the soles of her feet. She squirmed, giggled, and flushed red with embarrassment in spite of herself. Rather than raise an alarm at the entirely un-lotus-like behavior, the five lotuses exchanged glances of curiosity and amusement. Their lips, glossy and pink to match their undergarments, smiled in the recognition of something interesting and new. Five sets of dark brown, nearly black, narrow eyes sparkled with mischief.
They each took a limb, holding her in place with their right hand to tickle with their left. Clover squirmed to no avail. The feathers tickled and teased, dancing the line between pleasant and overload. She’d almost forgotten there were five until she felt the fifth feather trailing down her stomach. She pried her eyes open to watch the fifth lotus moving down her body, teasing the tip of a white, cockatiel feather across her stomach, around her naval, onto the razor-straight line of black hair on her mound. Clover only had a vague understanding of what went on in a pollination room; she knew no actual germination took place in most of them, which had always made her question their purpose. Feeling the feather dance along her inner thighs, sending shivers up her spine, she finally understood the use of feathers even if they lacked pollen.
Craning her neck to find an appropriate response elsewhere in the room, she struggled to see around the lotuses holding down her limbs. She caught glimpses that led her to believe what was happening to her was uncommon. Despite the danger of discovery, she struggled to exert an iota of control over her reactions. The soft, teasing feather, danced along the outside of her lips, raising Goosebumps across her skin. She was breathing hard, panting really, as much from the exertion of struggling against the tickling as from excitement. She knew, from the look on the lotuses’ faces that her reactions were un-lotus-like, bawdy even; what was more, they seemed to be enjoying her unusual behavior.
Others gravitated away from their own activities to both watch and participate. Clover felt new feathers caressing along her breasts, teasing her nipples to attention, and flicking across her neck in the most delicious ways. Fingers parted her lips and the feather tickled along her inner lips, making agonizing glances across her clit. She gasped and struggled until a sheen of sweat rose on her skin, making her remarkably slippery, something the lotuses hadn’t really encountered before. When the teasing of the feather reached its pinnacle of how much pleasure it might give with still miles to go before satisfaction, she broke her arm free from the grasping hands and tickling feathers. She wasn’t entirely sure what to do with it other than touch herself. She locked eyes with the fifth lotus between her legs who had been teasing her so expertly, and pleaded with her eyes, her own fingers tickling over her clit. The lotus remained stoic, without recognition of what Clover needed.
“Please,” Clover begged in a whisper, her eyes moving ever so slightly down to look at the lotus’s pearly pink mouth.
The lotus finally seemed to understand, lowering her head in an excruciatingly slow fashion. Clover heard the puzzled murmurs from the growing audience, but paid little attention to them. When the fifth lotus’s mouth finally pressed against her soft, pink lips, Clover lost even the slightest resolve in her course. She moaned, gasped, and pleaded in whispers. The fifth lotus, uncertain or reluctant at the start, soon found the desire as well, kissing Clover’s pussy at first before moving on to a more traditional swirl of a hard tongue over her clit. It was a slow, delicious motion that built pleasure like a tidal wave with every revolution. Clover kept as still as possible to aid in the concentration of getting as much tongue surface around the edges of her clit as possible. Eyes closed, head thrown back, mouth gaping wide, Clover finally climaxed in a series of panting screams that silenced the room. When she felt the ebb of pleasure pass from her, she looked down to find she’d entwined her fingers in the hair of the lotus between her legs, spoiling her tightly-wound bun in the process. The lotus, with lip gloss smeared, didn’t seem to mind.
Clover found herself at the center of attention for the entire room. She stood, finally released from her bonds in the midst of a sea of mostly naked lotuses who had all gathered in a halo around her to listen and watch what was being done to and by her. She put her clothes on in the most business-like fashion she could manage, checked to make sure her hair was perfect, and straightened her glasses on her narrow nose. All eyes in the room followed her every motion with an infatuated interest. Before leaving, Clover leaned down to the lotus who had brought her such pleasure, cradled the nameless woman’s face, and kissed her deeply. The lotus returned the kiss with an urgent intensity, grasping at the lapels of Clover’s suit. When she finally broke the kiss she found she’d not only made the lotus breathless, but herself as well.
On the way out of the room she found the same lewd, knowing smile on the lips of every lotus she passed, made all the more eerie by the fact that they all wore the exact same face.
Clover’s black, stiletto heels finally stepped off the carpet of the main intelligence cluster onto the linoleum hallway leading to the cloning facilities. Clover shifted to the form of a willow.
Dandelion said she and Nightshade were special. Just close enough to the cusp of acceptability that they could act as infiltrators in ways he couldn’t. Clover respected her Commanding Officer, Dandelion. He was a warrior, a survivor, and, in the days before chemical warfare, an eradicator of whole societies. Unfortunately, he was a relic of a bygone era. The world stage had been reset for a subtler kind, for infiltrators like Clover, Nightshade, and Creeping Charlie.
Good old Creeping Charlie—he had taught her everything she knew about herbal espionage and genetic terrorism. He was a rare, perennial weed. He wasn’t the type to fall down to anything but direct hands on contact. Even then he was just as likely to pop up somewhere else with a purple cluster bomb in hand. Dandelion wanted to give this mission to CC, but Creeping Charlie knew of Clover’s fraternization with the princess of poisons, Black Nightshade. He passed the assignment to her so she might take the opportunity to rescue her lover.
Stepping into the core isolation chamber, unseen in the guise of a willow, Clover removed the small, metal tube from her lab coat pocket. Untwisting the cap, she poured the contents of the cylinder into the genetic sample receptacle. Seeds of a million species fell into the cyclone chamber before her. Such a small change, imperceptible to the naked eye, but with that single act, she shifted the future make-up of the next generation from just sixteen species to over seventy-thousand.
The stability of the rule of sixteen was a hard cask to shatter. Might she have made a mistake sowing her seeds so liberally? She enjoyed the security and prosperity created by the order, didn’t she? Dandelion promised it would continue through to the new regime, but she wasn’t so sure. There were rumors that the orchids at the top of the government were cross germinating anyway. Shouldn’t new strains be allowed at all levels of society? But would rag weed really make the trains run on time? Could musk thistle manage national security as well as holly?
The seeds were already sent fluttering from her hand. She could call the real willows to clean up her mess though. All she would need to do was to return to her normal form. Her reflection off the glass chamber ahead was that of a wizened face with a white beard, stern, gray eyes tucked beneath a perpetually furrowed brow. She had curly, red hair in her true form, freckles, pale, green eyes, with a mouth almost always turned up at the corners in an impish grin. If she thought on it long enough, she might accidentally see that face looking back at her, then the choice would be made. The instant she dropped her façade security sensors would find her, followed by holly officials, finally the willows would burn the cyclone of seeds.
Refocusing her eyes from her own reflection to the swirling mass of seeds within the tube, Clover resolved to continue as intended; if sixteen was good, seventy-thousand would be better. It was impossible for her to tell whether she actually believed in the status quo or if it was something she’d picked up from the subliminal advertisements so prominent in everyone’s lives. Regardless, Clover’s rebellious streak was too strong to be shut down by simple self-doubt.
Holly was the most familiar face of the power structure, making it both the easiest and hardest shape to take. Wearing the broad shoulders, square head, and flattened nose of a holly officer, she strode into the detention center in her dark green uniform with the blood-red buttons. Other, identical appearing clones passed her; they saluted and she saluted in return. Deeper and deeper into the holding cells of the unwanted, she followed the signs leading her to the holding cells for rogue weeds nicknamed “the mulching zone.”
The small, gold ring on her right hand was the only difference between her and the holly officers she passed. She couldn’t match strength with any of the soldiers. Clover looked large and imposing when shape-shifted, but she wasn’t any stronger than any other 105 lb infiltrator; with her gift from her girlfriend, she wouldn’t have to be. Turning the gold band over, she swatted the back of a passing officer’s neck. The tiny barb on her ring injecting him with a poison provided and perfected by Nightshade. The holly officer went down as though it were the day after Christmas. Retrieving his security clearance badge, she rolled him onto his side to take his weapon as well.
Endless halls held the rogue strains. She knew Nightshade’s scent though. Following the smell of her lover, she found the cell in short order. Nightshade sat on the edge of her bunk, hunched over with her elbows resting on her knees, her hands dangling next to one another. Nightshade’s long, talented fingers, so adept with security codes, poisons, and Clover’s body, sang out to her. When Clover cleared her throat, Nightshade looked up. Her features were sharp and angular, her hair black as pitch, slicked back away from her exotic face.
“Bleak accommodations for a princess,” Clover said.
“Have you already planted the seeds?” Nightshade stood quickly, coming to the door of her cage, those beautiful hands clenching the bars intensely.
“It is done.”
“You have to undo it.” Her voice rose. “I tried. I tried so hard to walk away. I had done the job, but I couldn’t burn society. I watched the glass and let my reflection turn. Don’t you see? This will bring it all tumbling down.”
“Did they turn you?” Clover asked dispassionately. Nightshade’s words were poison in her ears.
“No, of course not.” Nightshade didn’t step away from her.
She could lie. Clover knew she could. She’d done it so many times. She could lie, and Clover would never know the difference. Clover pulled her to the front of the cage, kissing her between the bars. When Nightshade struggled to break the kiss, Clover held her firm. Pressing her hand flat along Nightshade’s stomach, she slipped her digits down the front of her lover’s tight pants. Her fingers, thick and strong in her Holly form, dealt roughly with Nightshade’s tender pussy. Nightshade’s protests at being kissed while Clover wore the face of holly melted at the touch, and soon, she was writhing to feel more of the thick, calloused fingers pressed hard against her clit. Clover’s other hand plunged between the bars and gripped Nightshade’s ass to pull her forward into the harsh rubbing. When she felt Nightshade on the cusp of climax, she backed off, withdrew her hand, and broke the kiss. Shifting her form, Cover wore Nightshade’s face, her body, the familiar skin of her lover. Two princesses of poison stood opposite each other, watching one another through the bars. The alarms did not sound.
Drawing the gun retrieved from the guard, Clover fired two shots: one into Nightshade’s forehead, the other into her heart. The sound of two spent casings hitting the ground was immediately followed by wailing of the alarms.
By Cassandra Duffy
The spectacle of exhibitionism is the key to its appeal for the theatrical personality. These were the words Professor Weidman used to explain the attraction of exhibitionism for out-going personality types. She’d also told Leilani and Ivy to knock it off in her class, or take their leave if they couldn’t help but make a spectacle of themselves. Leilani had expected leniency from a human sexuality professor, but she also hadn’t expected Ivy to be the extreme distraction she was proving to be. They hadn’t taken a class together to that point, and Leilani was beginning to see why. As two, attractive, and intimately entwined lesbians in a college human sexuality class, they were bound to be something of a spectacle regardless of their behavior. Of course, Professor Weidman was just baiting trouble with the guest lecturer couple she’d invited.
The couple, bedroom counseling experts in introduction, was Welsh to an excessive degree. They somehow managed to be both lively and composed at the same time in their explanation of intimate interactions and their impacts on monogamous relationships. Leilani was more focused on the Filipino beauty sitting to her right. Ivy constantly sat with the posture of someone well on their way to napping, leaning over, legs thrust forward even in the slanted auditorium seating, long, black hair constantly finding its way into her face with over-grown layered bangs. Perfection, utter perfection, was all Leilani could think of her new girlfriend—she was smart, attractive, talented, funny, a good cook, mechanically inclined, danced like a gypsy ballerina, and seemed to know something about everything. In addition, whenever Leilani had come across a strangely attractive Pacific Rim person of un-defined origins, she’d always found out later they were Filipino, which slowly became her type.
Leilani was trying to focus on the prim man at the front of the auditorium. He was pushing his glasses back up his nose every three or four words, and she started making hash marks at the top corner of her notes every time he did, rather than actually listen to his lecture. Ivy caught a glimpse of what Leilani was doing and gave her the mischievous look that Leilani had come to know well in the past three months.
“Nessy, my lamb, we are both reasonably young individuals with perfectly natural needs, perhaps we should engage in sexual relations,” Ivy whispered to her in a perfectly snotty imitation of the Welsh man’s accent.
“Indeed, Reginald,” Leilani whispered back, in a less than perfect imitation of the Welsh woman, “but we must refrain from snogging as I’ve just applied my lip color.”
“Smashing!” Ivy said, her voice rising to almost conversational levels. “Might I smack your hiney should the mood strike me?”
“Certainly, as I understand your manly needs to interject some mild violence into sexual couplings within the pre-arranged confines of our relationship structure,” Leilani whispered, trying desperately not to laugh. “Though you mustn’t tug my hair. I admit we both enjoy such activities, but I am back from the hairdresser this afternoon.”
That was about all either of them could take and they dissolved into a full-blown case of the church giggles. Professor Weidman, who had been eyeing them angrily the entire time, finally stood, pointed grandly to the door, and directed them to leave with little more than a few clicks of her tongue and a stern stare. They collected their things, covered their mouths with their hands, and scampered out as quickly as possible.
Free of the Ed-Psych Building, Leilani and Ivy leaned heavily on one another to finish expelling the pent up laughter. They skipped an early lunch to head back to the dorms. Leilani had lucked into a coveted corner room, which had two windows instead of one, and recently became all Leilani’s when her assigned roommate moved off campus to live with her 40-year-old boyfriend without bothering to tell her parents. Leilani had pushed the two twin beds together under one of the windows, laying a king size foam pad across the top to make a bed large enough to sleep two with more than enough space for incredibly acrobatic bedroom antics.
Ivy flopped onto the bed, kicked off her flip-flops, and flicked on the TV and Xbox. Leilani slipped into the shared bathroom. She slid the bolt closed on the door to the other dorm room and began undressing. Nude, save her shark-tooth necklace, she sprayed a fine mist of French Vanilla perfume into the air and walked briskly back and forth through it until it clung to her, front and back. She admired her nude, tan figure in the mirror, the gentle curves of her Hawaiian body that blended muscle and fat into a deliciously thick, yet alluring shape, not as defined as Ivy’s, yet full and rich in all the right places. She pulled a teal underwear set from a pink striped bag that she’d hidden away behind a stack of towels, clipped the tags free with fingernail clippers, and slid the set on. The lace boy-cut panties hugged low on the mild curve of her hips, leaving an appealing several inches of her full backside uncovered. The bra loosely cradled her perky breasts, giving the distinct impression she might pop free of the top with even the slightest jostle. She tied her shoulder-length brown hair up into two loose puffs with matching ribbon.
Ready, she threw open the door. When Ivy didn’t immediately look up from the video game she was currently dominating, Leilani tapped her toe rings meaningfully against the few squares of tile leading out of the bathroom. Ivy glanced up once from the game to find the origin of the sound and looked back to her video game only once before her head snapped back around. “Gotta go,” she said into the headset, prior to tearing off the earpiece and turning off the Xbox.
Ivy bounced to the edge of the bed, standing only briefly before Leilani pushed her back. Leilani pulled up the front of Ivy’s half-shirt, and began unbuttoning the top of her camouflage skate shorts, placing kisses along Ivy’s flat, smooth stomach.
“We’re still on the clock for human sexuality class,” Leilani said between kisses. “We need to study.”
Ivy propped herself up with her elbows to watch Leilani. “Were you thinking Big Kahuna?”
“Too big for this.” Leilani pulled away Ivy’s shorts, dropping them on the floor. Ivy was wearing a lovely pair of purple, cotton, bikini cut that complimented her mocha skin in such a delicious way that Leilani couldn’t help but plant a few kisses along the line of skin between the soft material and the even softer skin of Ivy’s hips. “What about Pinkie?”
“Pinkie and the Brain or just Pinkie?”
Leilani felt beneath the bed with her toes until she found the lip of the plastic storage bin lovingly referred to as their ‘toy chest.’ Leilani had always liked sex toys of all shapes and sizes, although she hadn’t amassed anywhere near the trove she currently possessed until she started dating Ivy. Her girlfriend not only loved the devices, both mechanical and stationary, but seemed to enjoy tools of all kinds and forms, viewing sex toys more as sex tools of a delicate craft. Pinkie referred to a small, pink leopard-print bullet vibrator, while Pinkie and the Brain referred to a rather large, gel dildo complete with facsimile testicles, which constituted the ‘brain’ part of the name. Leilani brushed aside the realistic, albeit translucent, dildo in favor of the bullet vibrator it sat on top of. She tossed the toy to Ivy, who caught it between her clapped hands.
“Definitely Pinkie,” she said. “What toy would you like?”
“Your mouth,” Ivy said in a pointed way that made Leilani’s stomach flutter.
Leilani crawled up onto the bed, straddling Ivy’s hips. The straddling was short lived though as Ivy’s hands came up to her waist, lifted, and tossed her onto the bed with a little bounce. Leilani typically shot straight between top and topped, fluctuating almost entirely based on her mood; Ivy was the first girlfriend she’d ever had who was not only equally talented in both roles, but seemed to read Leilani’s mood with laser accuracy and take the complimentary position based on it. Despite being the instigator, Leilani desperately wanted to be topped.
Ivy slid in next to her. Leilani’s hand pushed up the front of Ivy’s shirt to caress at her breasts, small enough to be free of a bra often, but with dagger-like little nipples that poked at her shirt with the slightest provocation, and Leilani was definitely provoking. Ivy kissed her, strong and insistent, tasting of cinnamon gum. Leilani heard the toy turn on with a thrumming buzz and felt it pressed flat along her pussy, teasing her through the lace material. With expert grace in manipulation, Ivy rolled the length of the vibrator along the line of her slit, pressing the thickest edge against her clit and then tilting it to tease the bullet tip at the entrance to her pussy. This gentle rocking back and forth succeeded in soaking the lace material and drove Leilani to squirm and quiver. She tried to focus on the kiss, her hand still caressing and fondling Ivy’s breast, but her mind kept rebounding to the toy teasing her.
The repeated dipping and pressing motions finally pushed the edges of her outer lips against the outer edges of the lace, bringing the vibrating toy in contact with her skin. Leilani broke the kiss to gasp; her hand immediately came away from Ivy’s breast to press at the top of the boy-cut shorts to push them down. Ivy’s hand came up to stop her. “Not yet,” Ivy whispered to her, rubbing their noses together.
“You suck,” Leilani groaned.
“…on you and like there is no tomorrow,” Ivy said impishly.
Leilani couldn’t lie still. Each pass of the thick base of the vibrator along her clit, through the lace material sent tingles through her legs, and every dip of the tip of her increasingly drenched lips brought up a primal craving to have it inside her. Brought to the edge of delirium, every thought dominated by having the toy touch her skin, she finally felt Ivy slip the toy down the top of her panties to move in the same motions but directly against her skin. The sensations, formerly muted by the cloth, nearly drove Leilani to jump from the bed with their new intensity compounded by her body straining so long to feel them. Ivy focused the vibrator on her clit, dipping the tip only occasionally to touch it with the slippery wetness between her lips.
Leilani gripped at the sheets as her first climax came. Only adding fuel to the fire, the intense, but all-too brief, orgasm, re-awoke the craving to feel the toy inside. Ivy, knowing the craving and recognizing it on Leilani, flipped her onto her stomach, partially draping herself across Leilani’s leg and back in the process. She slipped aside the soaked lace material and plunged the toy into Leilani’s waiting pussy. Leilani rolled her hips back against the toy to meet Ivy’s every thrust. The late morning sun, flooding in through the southern facing window, and the strenuous teasing she’d received, raised a warm, active sweat to her skin, bringing out the vanilla of her perfume. Leilani tried to bury her face in the pillow to mute her screams of pleasure as the vibrating toy, filling her so nicely and drove her toward her second orgasm, but Ivy’s free hand slid under her, cradled her chin, and prevented her from obscuring any of the beautiful notes of her pleasure song.
Some semblance of sanity returned to Leilani when the last rolling waves of pleasure subsided; her two greatest cravings, born of the interminable teasing, were satisfied—her clit had been properly vibrated and she felt sufficiently filled. All she could think of was tasting Ivy, and giving back some of the pleasure she’d received. Reading the not-quite-done-fucking-you look on Ivy’s face, Leilani said, “We haven’t counted to 69 in awhile.”
“So many positions, so little time,” Ivy said breathlessly.
Leilani swung her leg over Ivy’s chest, straddling her upper chest backward. She took the waistband of Ivy’s lovely purple panties in her hands and worked them down over the curve of her hips, rolling them down her long, shapely legs. The material that sat closest to Ivy’s pussy was darkened with evidence of her own building desire. Leilani tossed them back over her shoulder so Ivy might see. “You’re so hot for me,” she said with a giggle, “and I have proof.”
“That won’t stand up in any court of…” was all Ivy managed to say before Leilani buried her face between her lover’s legs.
Ivy’s pussy was warm, bordering on hot, rich, luscious, wet, and a myriad of other things that made it mouthwatering. She wrapped her hands around Leilani’s legs, gripping tight with her left hand while pushing two fingers from her right into the velvety folds of Ivy’s adorable pussy. She pressed her lips down over Ivy’s clit, sucking at it with blind fervor, inhaling her lover’s familiar scent with every breath. The toy, which had gone silent at some point, whirred to life again, and Leilani felt it pressed against her entrance from behind. For a delicious moment, the tip sat between her lips, vibrating her outsides before plunging into her, angled down to glance off her g-spot in a way that tickled her right through her core.
Her entire body jumped into the motion of fucking herself back against the toy. She used the momentum of her thrusts back against the vibrator to fuel her own suckling on Ivy’s clit. Her own moans, muffled by working her mouth over Ivy’s pussy, were soon joined by Ivy’s own gasps of pleasure. There was always a perfect, almost musical, rhythm to Ivy’s sex noises. They built like a symphony orchestra in precise tune, breaking at a crescendo that Leilani could set her watch to with just a little time to listen for the beat. Wanting desperately for their orgasms to arrive on the same schedule, Leilani had to catch up. She painted the lovely picture of their act in her head, Ivy’s black hair splayed across the pillows, her own breasts rubbing seductively against the lace as they ran up and down Ivy’s tight stomach, and the sun shining down over all of it, lighting the complimentary shades of their tanned skin. Her focus broke when she felt herself climaxing in time with the beautiful punctuating scream of Ivy’s orgasm at the exact crest she’d been building to in an exponential, straight line.
Leilani slipped her drenched fingers from Ivy’s inferno, licking them clean. She took several, complimentary laps at Ivy’s wet lips, just to get more of her lover’s flavor on her tongue. Reaching her other hand back, she felt a few indentations on the bottom curve of her left cheek. “I didn’t even feel you bite me,” Leilani said with a little laugh.
“The mood struck me,” Ivy said between gasping breaths.
Leilani rolled off Ivy and propped her feet up on the edge of the window sill. Her body was a tingling, quivering, mass of gratification, and she desperately needed, but didn’t want, to shower off the sheen of mixed sweat and perfume.
“I have to be at work in an hour,” Ivy said.
“Your money is on the nightstand,” Leilani murmured. “I’ll clean the toy if you have to shower first.”
Ivy leaned over, kissed Leilani on the leg, and leapt from the bed as if she’d been doused with pixie dust.
“Wait up,” Leilani said. “Can you drop me off downtown on your way? My car is still barfing radiator fluid and I’m supposed to have lunch with the Lanis.”
“Your car is fine.” Ivy pulled on her shorts without underwear. “I fixed it last night.” She crawled across the bed to kiss Leilani on the lips with a lingering embrace. “I’ll see you tonight.”
Leilani lay on the bed, soaking up the sun, enjoying her post-orgasm daze, for close to a half-hour after Ivy left. She finally pulled herself together enough to sit up and see about the state of things. Ivy’s panties were still on her pillow, rolled into a near perfect little figure eight with only the crotch not spun into purple rope. Leilani grabbed the underwear to toss it in the dirty clothes hamper, but stopped with her arm cocked halfway. The wet spot from Ivy’s arousal was still wet, despite the underwear having lain in the sun for more than thirty minutes. Ivy touched her fingertips to the wetness and found it not just damp, but slipperier than expensive lube. Leilani tossed aside the strangeness of the thought and the underwear, landing them in the hamper on the first shot.
She next picked up Pinkie, lying on Ivy’s pillow, to take it into the bathroom to clean up. When she twisted the little ring on the bottom, the toy didn’t turn on. She twisted off the entire cap and found an explanation for why the toy felt a little light—there were no batteries inside. She hunted around the bedding and pillows, but couldn’t find where Ivy might have discarded them. Why or when did she remove them, Leilani wondered. She finally found the batteries on the nightstand, standing like two perfect little soldiers in a line. Slipping them back into the toy, she tried turning it on again only to find the batteries completely dead. She replaced the possibly dead batteries with fresh ones from the nightstand drawer, and the toy turned on with the familiar whirring buzz.
She stared at the vibrating, pink, leopard tube for awhile as though it might explain what was going on. When Pinkie wasn’t forthcoming with answers, she turned it off and took it into the bathroom to clean, assuming it was orgasm-induced obliviousness on her part.
~€~
‘The Lanis’ as Leilani called them, were the castoffs of the UC Santa Cruz women’s surfing team who had failed one drug test, always pot, too many. While Leilani never smoked or ingested with them, and thus kept her spot on the team, she did feel a little bad about the whole thing, especially since she knew marijuana was not much a performance enhancer when it came to anything beyond eating nachos and watching bad movies. The trio, plus Leilani, comprised what had been the four Hawaiians on the surf team; now they only met up once or twice a week to surf and eat sushi.
Aolani, Ewelani, Hokulani, and Leilani were all called Lani for short in their other circles of friends, and so became A-Lani, E-Lani, H-Lani, and L-Lani when they became a group. A-Lani and E-Lani were in the middle of a ‘who can hold wasabi on their tongue the longest’ contest when Leilani arrived. H-Lani was attempting to distract both competitors by flicking soy sauce at them. It was obvious they were all pretty well baked, which made what Leilani wanted to talk about a little easier.
A-Lani and E-Lani, tongues fully extended with enormous green globs on the middle, waved to her before resuming their face-off. H-Lani set aside the dish of soy sauce she’d been dipping her fingers in to flick at them and gave Leilani an earthy hug, wiping soy sauce across the back of her shirt.
“Hey, sista,” H-Lani said. “We just ordered a spider roll if you want in.”
“Sure,” Leilani said. “Could you two knock that off? I want to float something by you.”
A-Lani and E-Lani shook their heads and mumbled something unintelligible around their extended tongues. H-Lani rolled her eyes and made a hand motion indicating jacking-off, which didn’t seem all that appropriate for the situation, so she quickly changed it to brushing invisible crumbs off the front of her tank-top.
“Loserslutswallowsandsayswhat?” Leilani said to A-Lani and E-Lani.
Both girls swallowed their globs of wasabi, gagged a little, and said, “what?”
“Exactly,” Leilani said.
“What’s the crucial?” A-Lani said after a long drink of her Diet Coke.
“Promise not to laugh?” Leilani asked.
“Too baked to laugh,” E-Lani said.
Everyone but Leilani laughed.
“I think my girlfriend is a robot,” Leilani said.
“Cool,” H-Lani said.
“The Vietnamese chick?” E-Lani asked.
“Filipino,” A-Lani corrected her. “Why do you think that?”
“It’d be cool to know someone who dated a robot, duh,” H-Lani said.
“Not you,” A-Lani said. “I was talking to L-Lani.”
“She’s just too perfect,” Leilani said. “She knows everything, reads me like a book, knows so much stuff, and never gets lost. I mean, she fixed my car—my car. It runs better than when it was new.”
“While the Barfing Plumb is a notorious piece of shit, I don’t think fixing an ancient Buick Roadmaster makes her a robot,” A-Lani said.
“Yeah, and stop bragging,” E-Lani said. “My boyfriend doesn’t stink, most of the time, but you don’t hear me going on and on about it.”
“Good points,” H-Lani said. “Do you have any evidence other than she’s not an incompetent moron?”
“She’d never cooked before, but she made grilled Mahi Mahi for my birthday last month,” Leilani offered.
“Anyone can follow a recipe off a smart phone,” A-Lani said.
“She never uses a calculator for anything,” Leilani said. “And she always knows exactly what time it is.”
“Weird, but not robot territory,” E-Lani said.
“She never gets sick,” Leilani said.
“Neither does E-Lani’s stinky boyfriend,” H-Lani said. “What about physical stuff? Like plugging herself into the wall, or eating batteries, or leaking motor oil or something?”
“Maybe one thing, but we’d have to test it, and you might think it’s gross,” Leilani said.
All three of her girls leaned forward, suddenly very intrigued.
“We need to get into the chem lab,” Leilani continued.
~€~
After retrieving Ivy’s underwear from that morning, Leilani met the girls in front of the science building. Despite the fact that it was still daylight out, E-Lani and A-Lani thought it was a good idea to sneak around the side of the building and go through one the lesser used doors. They even crept sideways down the halls on the way to the chemistry labs, despite H-Lani and Leilani repeatedly telling them to stop.
The Organic chemistry lab was the only unlocked door on the entire floor. They tried to act like they belonged there, as a few chemistry students were working throughout the classroom lab. Wearing borrowed goggles, upside down in A-Lani’s case, they began assembling glass wear, Bunsen burners, and other lab equipment. It occurred to them, only after they got set up, that none of them had the faintest clue what they were doing. Leilani managed to scrape Ivy’s juices, still wet even after several hours, from the underwear into a tiny, glass vial, but that’s about all she could think to do.