The interior of the house is the pained sunny of indirect natural light from an invisible source. The Man of the House is wearing a dark blue and black, alternating stretcher bond and soldier course-patterned yukata. He walks down the staircase towards the foyer. Waiting there, standing side by side in silence with their hands down and looking back up at him are The Pretty Amazing Housewife and The Angst-Ridden Teenage Daughter. They’re standing side by side, in the foyer, facing the staircase, faces devoid of expression, looking up at Frank as he walks down the stairs toward the foyer. Adrian is now wearing a skin-tight black vinyl tank-top and matching ultra-short shorts with a half-inch-wide metal zipper that starts just below the metal button on the front of her waistband and runs down along her underside and ends back up at her waistband by where her sacral vertebrae would be. No other accessories, except for big black shiny hoop earrings and black, shiny, ankle-strap, open-toe, six-inch stiletto heel platform sandals on her. Skylark is wearing the exact same thing, and both got their hair done the same way, too: side-braided ponytail. In all seriousness, the only way to tell them apart is that one of them’s got these tiny, foundation-covered pimples all over her also shockingly gorgeous face. She’s at Adrian’s left.
Frank has finished his descent down the stairs, and is now standing an arm’s length away from any given one of the women.
The music everywhere inside the house – the omnipresent, louder-than-life music permeating every cubic inch of the inside of the house -- is the song ‘Combobulated’ by the Tom Rainey Trio from their 2019 EP of the same name, when suddenly, Adrian clasps her hands together and says, her expression now the gist of infantile excitement, “What shall we play?!?”
“Hide and seek! Hide and seek! Hide and seek!” cries Skylark, while making these tiny quick hops, up and down, on the tips of her platforms, face lit up in a demented eager grin, her arms bent and elbows pressed to the sides of her gut and fists at her cheeks like a crazy kangaroo ready to rumble.
Frank, beaming: “Okay, who’s it first?”
Adrian, shutting her eyes vigorously, nose scrunched up so much her apples jut out and the pink above her pearly whites reveals, glistening, the pedicured fingertips of each open palm covering each eye: “onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineteneleventwelvethirteenfourteenfifteensixteen…”
Frank and Skylark scurry away, Skylark shrieking unintelligibly; Frank’s face, the face of euphoria as he dashes toward the study and hides inside a closet.
“…twentyninethirtythirtyonethirtytwothirtythreethirtyfourthirtyfive…”
Skylark darts into the living room -- as fast as she can manage while atop those platforms she’s wearing -- up to the precisely-placed four-seater sofa in the living room. The sofa’s against the committed white sheer curtain which she yanks off its rod, then throws up in the air over her head and the sheer curtain slowly starts dropping upon her as she simultaneously lays face-down on the sofa, hysterically, futilely also placing over herself the planned throw-pillows in what looks like an attempt to conceal her five-foot-ten length and but the flesh – of her legs, primarily, and lower back -- of course revealing everywhere, in neat geometric patches.
“…ninetyfourninetyfiveninetysixninetysevenninetyeightninetynineAHUNDRED!! I’M COMING!!!”
Skylark does well not to shriek again. Frank can barely fend off laughter. “M-hmmm… wheeere aaare youuuu!!” Adrian, in singsong. She goes into the kitchen. Circles the island. Nothing. Opens the oven. Pristine. Skylark giggles. “I heaaaard youuuu,” calls Adrian. She click-clacks her way to the living room, towering atop her stiletto platforms, and as soon as she gets there regards Skylark’s own plats, and ankles, and neat geometric skin patches, and shiny black vinyl shorts, an arm, blonde lefty braid; comes up to her and clasps her left calf, Skylark screams and jerks up to sitting position, sending pillows everywhere, as Frank outside the living room sprints from the study back to “home base” in the foyer; he gets there, yells out, euphoric: “I won!!! I won!!!” in complete euphoria, fists pumping, raised up above his head.
Now silence. Frank drops his arms. Skylark’s still sitting on the sofa over throw pillows and white sheer and part of Adrian’s right leg – she’s now laying down beside her – and says, “I’m bored.”
“Me too,” Adrian says. She pulls her leg from beneath Skylark and sits up, on the edge of the sofa, elbows on thighs, like a benched athlete.
Frank comes into the living room and toward the sad faces, still slightly panting. He says, still catching his breath, “You wanna… play something else?”
Skylark says: “I got it! Egg! Let’s play Egg!”
Adrian: “Egg! Egg! Egg! Egg! Yes!!!” as she stands up straight instantly, the soles of her shoes actually separating from the floor a good half inch from the acceleration of her action.
“Okay, Egg it is!” says Frank, and runs to the kitchen up to a counter, opens a minimalistic, refrigerated glass trunk with fourty-eight brown eggs that’s placed, planned, committeed, on the counter; picks one, runs back to the foyer. Adrian and Skylark are there already, sitting on the floor, crossed-legged, near the foot of the stairs. “Okay,” says Franks as he sets the egg in front of the two and sits across from them so that each is located on what would be the vertices of an imaginary equilateral triangle, with the egg at its center. Then Adrian clinches the egg by its sides with manicured thumb and middle finger, and she spins the egg as she says, “I’ll spin.” The egg rotates viscously about its tangential point of contact with the spotless, perfectly level floor for about nine seconds, slowly coming to a full stop at the last of those moments where the air cell-side of it did point in Skylark’s general direction, and its “point”, in Frank’s.
“Woohoohoooo,” hooted Skylark. “Okay,” she says. “Let’s see.” She looks at Adrian rougishly and then back at Frank. “You,” she points at Frank, “give her,” she points at Adrian, “a kiss.”
“A kiss,” repeats Frank, raising an eyebrow. “A kiss… where?”
“In the mouth,” immediately responds Skylark, now suddenly dead serious, her gaze locked into Frank’s.
“The mouth!?” cries Frank. But unfazed Adrian obediently, smilingly, dutifully gets on her hands and knees and slowly, lasciviously, crawls over to Frank. She then puts her face against his. Initially hesitant, Frank gives in to the face gently pressing against his forehand, nose, mouth. They give each other a long, passionate kiss.
“That’s passionate all right,” says Skylark. “Except,” she goes on, “I didn’t mean that mouth. I meant her other mouth.”
Frank pauses his kissing and turns to her, grimacing: “What? What other mouth?” he says.
And Skylark, stone-dead serious: “Her mouth on the other side of the donut, Frank.”
Adrian smiles and rolls her eyes. If it’s not topological ontology, again. She stands up, and turns so that her back is to befuddled Frank, then leans forward looking back over her right shoulder at him. With her vinyl-clad butt at arm’s length from Frank’s face now, she pulls down her short’s wide metal zipper with her right hand, between her splayed legs, down to her perineum, then rests that hand back on her thigh just above her right knee and with her left then clasps the zipper’s dangling pull tab and pulls it all the way back up to her short’s back waistband, thus finishing the job of revealing the plumpiest pair of baby-skinned ass cheeks you could have ever imagined, which jut out insolently towards Frank’s face. She is widely smiling as Skylark lecherously looks on. Frank plants a hand on each side of Adrian’s hips and pulls her ‘second face’ towards his first, forcing her to take four short steps back, then pulls her ass cheeks apart and buries his face between them, his whole mouth puckered toward her own “mouth on the other side of the donut.” And, they give each other another long, passionate kiss.
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“Good,” says Skylark. “You know what? Spinning again would just fuck up the rhythm. Frank, stand up. Take your robe off.”
Frank pauses and drones out a slow, low, “Shieeet,” then goes back to his black kissing.
Says Skylark, “I get it, you’re busy. Here, let me assist.” She gets upright on her knees and plods toward him, the toeboxes of her shiny vinyl platforms squeaking loudly behind her as they rub against the spotless floor with each lunge. Frank gets up, but bent over, still busy kissing. Adrian’s again looking back over her shoulder, amused. Skylark gets to Frank and unties his belt, then pulls his yukata open and janks it off him and it drops to his feet. “Still at half-mast, bro? Really?” She sniffs his balls. Says, “I know that’s not mine,” eyeing Frank’s dick now pressing against the side of her head, “but these two are game.” She sticks out a long wet tongue and starts circling his balls with it, doing full 360’s, the tip of her nose pressed against the base of his dick. Frankly, Frank’s Frank’s at ‘half-mast’ no more. Skylark keeps at this until she starts tasting the clear precum that’s oozing down the length of his dick and collecting along the tip of her nose and above her upper lip, licking it off then from both places and saying, “Knew that’d get ‘cha,” and going then back to work but now also with her right hand massaging with her manicured thumb the thick and clear fluid against the base of his dick and then sliding up and pressing along some corpus spongiosum which results in more ooze streaming down, and she liberally smears it all along the length and the width of his dick saying things like, “get it nice and greasy… real nice and greasy,” as she also now, with her greased-up right hand, starts fiercely rubbing her nose and mouth and sticking four fingers in her mouth repeatedly and choking herself with them and coughs and gags and more thick clear fluid now emerges all over her hand but this time her own as it drips and runs out her mouth and down her wrist and arm and she goes back to work the balls with her slick red tongue and with her shining-wet manicured hand grips the Johnson and strokes its full length up and down, occasionally stopping at the glans to rub the tip which inevitably then produces more clear goo oozing out, then says, “Now stick it in the donut.” So Frank stands up straight again and, Adrian looking back still over her shoulder, still smiling, reaches back and grabs Frank’s red apple and directs it over to the crevasse in her ass and slides it in between those healthy alabaster ass cheeks and toward her waiting, muscular anal ring. The asshole, goddammit! For maybe a full minute he just pressures her fair little crater repeatedly with his head, with short non-invasive knocks as it, Adrian’s asshole, reflexively dilates and contracts and her long neck finally relaxes and she slowly turns her head halfway forward as her smile also faintly diminishes and her eyes are shut close. Skylark ogles on, still on her knees, mouth relaxed, eyes hazed in limitless lust. Frank now, his dick still centered on Adrian’s asshole, slowly pulls Adrian’s pelvis toward him, and she lets out a low, prolonged “Fuuuucckkk.” Adrian now pulls her head back, jaw dropping slightly, eyes closed, beautiful thick lips lightly parted. Frank continues to slowly pull her in, carnivorous inch by carnivorous inch, until between his jagged pubes and the vastly dilated asshole in front of them is only visible a pink, thickly vasculated, four-inch by four-inch, glistening square of prick. Adrian is saying, “Oh my god… oh my god…”
Franks starts to push her pelvis out and pull it back toward him repeatedly now, faster, harder. Skylark gets up and walks on her tall heels this time over to the kitchen, where precisely-placed at the corner of the island stands a committed, foot-tall, mahogany pepper mill. She grabs it by the neck and walks back to the foyer, where Frank’s now banging ass like a motherfucker. All we get from Adrian is still the “Oh my god, oh my god,” but maybe just a bit higher-pitched and just a bit louder. Skylark unzips her own ultra-short shorts’ wide metal zipper, revealing her spotless, cleanly-shaved, dripping-wet vulva. And taps it repeatedly with the bottom end of the mill, which she’s still holding by the neck with her right hand as keeps intently watching Adrian and Frank go at it, and then slowly, but absolutely surely, inserts the entire pepper mill in her vagina in a single-yet-controlled, slow, constant motion. This takes about fifteen seconds, and a second after the pepper mill has stopped, has completely disappeared inside her, she just loudly wails a weird little “aaAAAAAAAhh”, which echoes across the foyer.
The music everywhere inside the house – the omnipresent, louder-than-life music permeating every cubic inch of the inside of the house -- is the song ‘Sidewinder’ by Lard from their 1997 LP Pure Chewing Satisfaction.
As if on cue, Frank completely pulls out of Adrian, his exposed dick now swathed and soiled in long fat streaks of some sort of clear pinkish jelly, and unloads six full shots of translucent-white nut that literally deface Adrian’s now sheeny but previously-spotless back, a large splat on her left cheek and hanging footbridge across the ass-crevasse, and dripping along her right thigh, back of her knee, protruding calf and down along her peeking soleus to her heel, where a puddle now spots the previously spotless floor. Adrian falls to her knees, then chest down on the floor, squashing the hapless, errant egg from before with her stomach, exhausted. But alas, Frank’s, er, batterin’ ram ain’t through batterin’ yet. Frank? He turns to Skylark with one heck of a fierce, predatory look on his face - actually looking like some kind of pissed-off adult Neanderthal who’s just discovered sex – and, gripping the base of his still fully-erect mastodon, makes his way over to her.
Sidewind
Refine
Survive
What's left behind
He picks her up by her waist with both hands and holds her in front of him, arms extended. Skylark, she’s all limp, the foot-long wooden pepper mill still inside her -- she’s just going along with whatever, jaw slacked, eyes closed, as in a trance, just softly repeating: “Oh damn… oh damn…” He turns her around violently. Puts a hand beneath each thigh, gripping firmly, spreading her bent legs wide open. Her quivering ass cheeks are a copy of Adrian’s, just that they’re a zit wonderland. He whams his greasy bollard inside her rectum, the latter reflexively clasping about it, and this time around she does let out a sharp scream: “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!” And he starts slamming her coxis against his pubic bone furiously -- all we get from her now is just this “AAAAAAAAA!!! AAAAAAAAA!!! AAAAAAAAA!!! AAAAAAAAA!!!” -- she keeps doing this -- eyes, nostrils, mouth now fully open, mouth a black oval; brow fully furrowed high above the bridge of her nose, eyebrows sloping drastically toward her glistening temples, it’s “AAAAAAAAA!!! AAAAAAAAA!!! AAAAAAAAA!!! AAAAAAAAA!!!” as she’s jounced and shimmied and waggled and quaked, and shaked and rumpled and rattled and rocked ‘til the footlong pepper mill starts to lose its grip of her internal walls, tiredly starts sliding out from her as it first peeks out then progressively starts emerging as the frenzied shaking of its host is now urging it on, further and further and this frenzied shaking finally makes it shoot out of -- actually somersault out of – Skylark’s vagina and the shiny footlong wooden shaker backflips several feet before falling gracelessly, heavily onto the floor with a loud thunk! along with some clear pinkish fluid that spills out along with it; then he spills out some nut in her colon, then pulls out of her completely and shoots out a true load on her reactively contracting, gaping asshole, then two final ones on nearby, inattentive Adrian as Skylark’s now gushing out her own worthy-of-a-garden-hose gusher of a squirting orgasm while shrieking out a sustained, much louder “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!” while savagely hitting her doused, splattering pubic bone with the yin of her fist which in passing makes more of a mess of the clear juice gushing all out in all directions and on the previously spotless, previously pristine foyer floor. Adrian, of course, now further soaked, still face down on the floor, someplace else altogether.
Sidewind
Refine
Survive
What's left behind
Meanwhile, laying in its crib in the master bedroom is The Heir-Apparent Newborn Son. Let’s call him, too, already, by the name he actually goes by: Uno. And Uno’s expression… let’s just say he looks damn well furious.
About twenty-six years in on his pathetic existence, he just lays there, eyes open wide, frown crushing his brow, mouth closed, scowling. His whole face contorted by rage, he’s looking in between the bars of the crib they condemned him in, over the perfectly-made king-size and the pristine empty dresser and the never ever used armchair and through the slightly concave-from-inside, continuous, floor-to-ceiling glass curtain wall to the dark, pitch-black skies behind it.
Imagining.
Outside the room, things seem back to merry. No one screaming anymore, just tons of laughs. The music everywhere inside the house – the omnipresent, louder-than-life music permeating every cubic inch of the inside of the house -- is the song ‘Jewel Throne’ by Celtic Frost, from their 1985 LP To Mega Therion.
I'm the king, sitting in the dark, hiding from the shadows of the wind
Wafts of might, wine of fire, I was called to taste