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Rift

By: gypsyred



Larry had found the spatial rift some months before and found himself spending more and more time in the world he found beyond it. For a man of his sexual appetites, it was a paradise. It was a simpler world, one in which technology didn't intrude, and one in which men and women occupied different spheres and roles and were happy with them. In this world, men were Masters, as it should be in his view. Women were either ladies or slaves, again as it should be. There was no smog, no noise and bustle, just simple people pursuing simple lives as farmers or hunters, Lords and Ladies and their servants. To Larry, the best part of this world were the slaves. Slaves wore only their Masters' collars or, if it was cold, a cloak. It was an all-day, every day smorgasbord of fleshly delight. Larry was very visually attuned.

Slaves would respond to the commands of any Master who might speak to them. Any slave who disobeyed a direct order would be punished but not harmed. Slaves could address Masters only when spoken to or invited; they had to use honorifics, either "Master" or "Sir (Name)." Any Master could require the use of any slave's body for sexual gratification, in any manner he chose. When called, a slave would assume a kneeling position at the Master's feet, knees spread, buttocks resting on heels, hands behind her back, head raised and eyes lowered, ready to do the Master's will.

While convention in this other world permitted the use of any slave, it was an unspoken rule that Masters were expected to obtain their own slaves through the rifts that connected the world in which Larry began his life and this world, this paradise. In conversations with other Masters, Larry learned that most slaves were abducted some known to their Masters before being transported to Paradise, some complete strangers. Slaves who did not adapt quickly were sent back.

For some months Larry had been corresponding with an old flame from whom he had been long parted. As they wrote, they forged emotional bonds, renewing the passions of their youths. But his lady lived a long distance from the rift. Would she leave her world to live with him in Paradise? As part of his preparations for spending a very long time in Paradise, Larry sent a packet to Lis it contained a ticket from her home to his, and the cryptic note, "Come. SLoW." Now nearly ready, he mailed it and waited.

On the appointed day, he hired a limo and driver to meet Lis at the airport. She was taken to a hotel room where a second cryptic instruction awaited her. "Wait. SLoW." Still alone when midnight rolled around, she drank the wine from both glasses she'd prepared, took her nervous exhaustion to bed and drifted into an uneasy sleep. Where was he? Why had he left her alone?

Larry waited for the light to be extinguished in her room. He opened the door and stood over her as she slept. Lis. Here in the flesh. It was all he could do not to take her as she lay there vulnerable in her drugged sleep. He wrapped her in a coat, fitted shoes to her feet, and took her from the hotel to his car receiving sympathetic glances from those who assumed he was helping a drunken date or wife. He smiled sadly at them.

At the rift, Larry carefully fitted a collar to Lis's neck. It bore his sign, entwined letter Ls. A small lock held it in place. He then removed her coat, her peignoir, her thong, exercising iron will to keep from touching her, from possessing her, then and there. He carried her through the rift, and deposited her on a pallet near his wagon. He then retired for the night, setting a mental alarm he wanted to watch her as she woke and her situation dawned on her.

Dawn broke, painting the skies in brilliant pinks and golds which reflected on her pale, bare skin as she slept. A small frown creased her brow as the sun touched her eyelids, urging her return to consciousness. She rolled away from the light, stretched and sat up, feeling a bit groggy. Larry watched the emotions flick across her face as the reality of her situation began to filter through to her consciousness. First, a puzzled look this definitely was not the hotel room where she'd gone to sleep. An instant alertness straightened her shoulders as she looked around her for threats. Outdoors. Her glance passed her legs bare. Her hands and eyes swept up her body encountering nothing, until her fingers touched her collar. Collar! A million thoughts yammered in her head for attention. One word passed her lips, plaintively, "Larry?"

Larry stepped out from his temporary blind. She leaped to her feet and threw herself at him, frightened, relieved, joyous, angry. Emotions ricocheted off her psyche. "What is this? What's going on? Where are my clothes? Where are we?" The words tumbled from her lips like a waterfall. He silenced her with his mouth, kissing her deeply.

The warmth and passion of that kiss wiped all thought from Lis's mind. She surrendered to his passion, returning her own. His clothes were rough against her bare skin. His hands sought to touch her everywhere at once. Soon both were seeking to render his skin as bare as hers. For a few moments they stood, enmeshed, locked from lip to leg, his erection pressing urgently at her belly, her hips reaching for it. They melted to the ground, breathing rough, skin flushed. Desire to be joined overwhelming. No need for preliminaries, months of promises and teases with no touch left both ready instantaneously. His cock was slicked with his readiness, matched by the wetness from her pussy. He barely noticed the smoothness of it, as he positioned himself and plunged into an ecstatic well hot, wet, slick his mind centered on the sensations he experienced in that fall. Her legs wrapped around him and pulled him tightly into her, her hips ramming against him to take all of him inside. Locked, they savored the miniature release of this satisfaction the long- desired fact of the ultimate touch for what seemed forever and was mere seconds before their needs drove them to their goal: his orgasm pumping sweetness into her answered by hers clutching his cock and milking it. Shudders of release shook them both. Gasping for air, they lay together, still joined, tasting the delights of the other before their eyes, their hands beginning gentle explorations.

As her mind returned to her possession, she remembered: the collar, open air, no clothes. She sucked in a breath to begin again her litany of questions. Anticipating, Larry silenced her again in his own sweet way. He lifted his mouth from hers, and placed a finger there. "Hush. I'll explain." He began with the hardest part the rift. Disbelief showed in her eyes. It was too close to what she'd told him about some books she'd enjoyed. He was just teasing. Again she started to interrupt and question him. This time, however, his reaction was different. His face went cold. "Slave! Be quiet!" The harsh tones struck her harder than a whip. Tears began to well in her eyes.

Larry began again. He told her of this world he called Paradise and of their respective places in it, her duties and responsibilities and how they were to be performed. He told her, too, that he planned on spending most of his time in this world. If she wanted to stay with him, she would adapt.

......

He packed her pallet, went to the wagon and climbed on. She tried to follow. "Slaves walk." Outraged, she sulked. But she walked.

To be continued . . . . Maybe

Love, All of us on the other end of the line

Rift



Her pigtails makes such wonderful reigns. 

She digs her hands into my thighs as I pull her throat down the whole of me. No matter how hard or fast—she never gags. She takes it in stride, egging me on when I ease up and laughing if I tire of it before she does. But try as I might, no matter how those blue eyes looked up at me as I fucked her face, I can't remove every hint of a smile. 

I pulled to move her back and she teased the head of my cock with that divine mouth. That tongue flicked, pushed and rang over the first two inches of me before she inhaled and started the process again. When I pulled down, she didn't stop until her nose pressed into my sternum. I had learned, trained myself, to slide her up and down like sled on greased rails. To use her hair to force her head down and back up in rapid succession, pulling her midway down my cock before dragging her back. 

God, she makes the most wonderful noises. Little moans as she goes down, growls as she goes back up. 

Fingers dig into my thighs, impatiently. When she moves them to my balls I take my cock out of her mouth and give her a light, clean slap before forcing her mouth back on me. I forget myself and shove her all the way down. But it's not punishment, not to her. And her eyes show it, a little victory for her as she assumes that I'll bow out so early. No such luck. I still myself, hold my breath deep in my diaphragm, and continue to sling her head back and forth across the length of me. I beg for patience and strength as the voracity in her groan increases. All I want to do is feed her now, so I close my eyes and ask for solace.

Hands wrap around the back of me, fingers pressing into my flesh and I can't take it anymore. I release my grip, find the back of her head and start pushing her down as I thrust myself up. A dozen thrusts and I'm at my end. The world is foggy and far away as she pulls her head back, my hands falling to keep her pinned.

The first two waves fall into her mouth, the third, and assuredly largest, hits her square in the face. Kinky bitch. It's what she wanted all along.

And now I'm too tired to fight her, so she has her way with my cock. Her mouth massaging and licking me all the way down and then all the way back up again. She wants to keep me hard, and at this point in the marathon I wouldn't mind going soft. The bed seems like heaven, if it too far away, and I just want to collapse into it. But pride keeps me going. Egotism. Contest. Superiority. And I'll be damned if I'm going to let her think she can go back to girls after me.

"Women can go longer." She gives a big, puckered kiss to the tip of me before rising and sliding across the room. 

It takes a moment for me force my eyes open. I wish I hadn't immediately. She's in a white cotton tank, extra skinny, and a short plaid skirt. Somewhere, earlier in the evening, she also had on red bikinis and a pair of glasses before I flung them aside.. Just the sight of her made my cock twitch and that little movement caused it to ache.

"You can't do what we just did with a woman." I try my best to flash a confident smile and hope it lands.

"What, get a woman to cum on my face? Maybe you can't," and here she winks, "but I can--anytime I want."

"I don't have to be as good at giving head. I fucked you until your legs went weak and you fell over."

"And?" She picks up a glass of water and starts walking back towards me with it offered, but I wave it away and she presents an amused grin. She sips with it planted firmly on her face, a noticeable shift in her hips. Fat and sassy as a house cat.

"And I think that's pretty fucking impressive. It's not something every man can do."

"Oh, but that's the rub." She shoots back the rest of the water and places the empty cup on the desk as she moves back to me, spreads her legs and straddles my lap. "The bet was that you couldn't last longer or make me cum more than a woman; not other men." She flicks the head of my cock playfully as her other hand strokes my cheek and she pretends she's sympathetic. "You held out for a good, long time. Nothing to be ashamed about. But it's time to call it." Her flick turns into a make-shift hand job, a hard grind to remind me how tight that pussy is.

I have her to the ground and impaled before she can react, my legs holding hers open as she attempts to squeeze them shut. It takes some fighting, but eventually I get her wrists down to the carpet. 

Unlike her mouth, that pussy is fertile ground to manipulate her, make her feel what I want. When I shove in, all at once, she whines, her face collapsing into a scrunched mess. By the time I'm seven inches deep, she's shaking—growling--begging for me without a word. Don't get me wrong, she still fights, her wrists pushing up against me, her legs trying to pull in. The lack of control, even this little amount, makes her feel weak and soft.

And that's how I'm going to win.

She comes back upstairs in robe, fresh from a show. It lasted forty minutes, so he must have been a fan. She always charges in 20 minute blocks for some reason I've never understood, something about easier to sell and the service she uses. And while I'd normally know this business inside and out, there isn't a doubt in my mind that I don't love her. Not in some way, not even a little. I just want to stare at her cleavage, see if I can get her nipple rings through the top today. 

Heather grabs my cock, strokes it twice and spreads her legs while she mounts me. "That just got me warmed up." 

I pray for salvation and dig my hands into her ass to spur her on.

"Why do you think you haven't married yet?" She must be in a great deal of pain to be stalling like this. So I turn over on my side to savor the moment.

"Why do you think you're already divorced?" 

"Are you even capable of being serious?"

"I am with people who are capable of understanding the words I use without a dictionary."

"I can't believe you'd call me stupid with my fingernails just inches away from your dick."

"In my defense: I thought you were so stupid that you wouldn't catch it."

Her laughter fills the room and it is light and easy. There isn't a doubt in my mind that she is by far the easiest woman to get along with. The most honest and direct woman I'd met in a long time. It was hard admitting that, so I laughed instead. And we did it together, like a couple, shaking from the exhaustion until she recovered enough to tell me to put up or admit I lost.

I grab the sides of her breasts and squeeze until she groans from the pleasure and the pain. Then I milk, from the bottom to the top and start it over again. It's a simple technique off chi, focusing the energy to a central point but avoiding all contact with it. When you use your hands on a womans thighs it's called a tantric massage. When you do it to her lower back it's called being a good lover. But when you do it to her tits it's called the best foreplay she'll ever have.

The most surefire way to tell you've achieved the wanted effect is that, for the first few minutes, she just lies there enjoys it. After that, when she starts begging or fighting or trying to please you? Well, she's just goading you. That's when you have to be strong, when you have to keep focusing, learning how she's building up a resistance and what changes you can make so she doesn't get a chance to block even a little of it out.

My-Real-Life-Barbie-Doll-Plus-Twenty doesn't play like most girls, though. After a few minutes of torture she shoves her head into my balls and begins to suck and lick. The amount of pain and frustration she can cause me with this action alone is too much. As my left testicle sinks into her mouth, rolled around and prodded with her tongue, I give in, move my hands up to the ring piercing each nipple and pull. 

Her mouth falls off me.

I spend the next eight minutes (god help me if I did anything but watch the clock, count and imagine myself anywhere but there) tugging the rings, slapping her breasts and tweaking her nipples. One after the other, harder each pass. Her breath and words floating over the weak parts of me. I forget myself, look to her body and I am undone. 

When I pull her torso to the end of the bed she leans up, spits between her breasts and goads me. With aid of piercing rings like little slave collars I push them together, nudge her forehead down with my thigh and push my cock into the moist but inadequate valley.



"Because women are better than men." She laughs as she picks up the beer glass, her eyes shining pools of mischief and folly. 

It's one of the few times I saw her fully clothed. She dressed down in a way that said "I could dress up if you were worth it, but you never will be." A little make-up dabbed here and there in a semi-professional way. I knew instantly that she was the kind that never wore it before she turned 25. 

I finish my own beer—was it the second or third?--and lean forward with the most smug smile on my face. "At sex?"

"At sex. At relationships. In the short term, in the long term."

"You think women make better partners than men in relationships?"

"You stupid man." She puts her glass down and squares her shoulders, leaning in to mirror my posture. "The funny thing is I think this all works very easily for you. You tell people that you're that good and they take you at face value. All you have to do is keep it up long enough that they start justifying the lie, anyway. And yeah, I think women are better in relationships than men. If you fuck a womans brain out she doesn't wonder how you learned to do it so well. When you're giving her the best oral sex of her life she doesn't wonder if a jock named Steve taught her how to do it in the back of her head. When something is eating up at them they tell you. When they fuck up they admit it. If you men only knew a tenth, A TENTH, of what we went through each and every relationship with you idiots you'd never step out on us again."

"Dinner says despite how cathartic that speech must have been, you've kept all the love letters men have written you, but you don't keep all the ones from the little girlies, do you?"

She gives me a long, apprising look before she shoots back the rest of her beer and smiles. It wasn't demure, but she sure as hell tried to make it look that way. "That's the other reason women are better. They last longer."

"No woman," and I lean forward even more, the smug smile on my face replaced with the holy light of righteous truth as I say the words that always save me. "No woman, anywhere, can last longer than me."

"Wanna bet?" 

Her body is held against the mattress. From behind she naught but a sea of tangled hair and curves. Ashen skin, marked with bites and slaps and indentations, shines in limelight. For the last hour she's not said a word, not one I could decipher anyway. Just sobs and moans and nothing else. She alternates between them depending on where her next orgasm is. When it's building she cries, when it hits she blurts out the nonsense and purrs and when it leaves and the pain comes back she's crying again. 

I've never been turned on by a woman crying, and I'm sure as hell not starting now, but we've pushed it too far for either of us to give in. We both want to be the bullits dominae.

I haven't cum in hours. I'm not sure I could if I wanted to. I'm hard, but not at full length, because of the motion, because of the exercise and the friction. This has long since stopped being anything other than an exercise for me. A bet, something to win. Every thrust, every single one, is painful. My feet are half asleep but I have to stand on them, keep taking her from behind, because if lied down, even for a second, I wouldn't get back up again. 

Just keep pushing. Just keep pushing.

"When did you realize that, despite loving her, it wasn't going to work out?" I stab out the cigarette, it's the first I've had in years but the way she offered it made it sound like it wasn't something to turn down. She'd already swallowed two and working on the third in under twenty minutes. 

The lines beneath her eyes are arched brazenly carved by all the tears. When she turns her head you can clearly see their outline in the light. "I don't know."

"When did you think that, despite having a penis, I'd be a lot of fun?" I exhale, doing my best to blow the smoke up and out like a circus clown, like a flame eater, like a performer of some kind to bring some much needed levity to the situation.

"The day after meeting you."

"Was it something I said?"

I think," she tilts her head back and looks to the ceiling with narrowed eyes. "I think the big moment was when you found out that I wasn't just a, what did you call it, phone sex operator? When you found out I did cam shows and you didn't ask for a free one, not even as a joke. When I told you later that I'd do one for you and you turned it down that was kinda like a slap to the face." She's so much more beautiful when she's not putting on airs or trying to be stronger than she is, like right now. 

I pray that I'm the opposite. I hope I'm only that good looking when I'm pretending to be the man I'm capable of. "Thank you."

She nods a few times before casting her glazy eyes to mine once again. The room is thick with our sweat, breath and smoke. There are a thousand walls between our gaze and I wonder if we can really even begin to see one another. "Would you like to stay the night?"

"No." Then I pray for the strength to follow through on, to feel my legs work long enough to get dressed and get out. 



She's said the word stop a few dozen times now, but we both know that wasn't the deal. But that's alright, because it's all over now. From the first time I hear the word, I am reborn. It gives me strength and absolves me of my sins and faults. The power of it courses to my finger tips and they savagely grip into her ass. Flow into the tip of my cock making it as hard as it's ever been while I plunge in and out of her. There is no fatigue, there is no battle. This was just conquest all along. Fly up the banner, feel the depth of me in your already sore pussy and know why this was inevitable.

No little girl sobs now, but tears—earnest crying. She's crying as she cums, she's crying while she purrs. When I bring a hand up and slap it back down against her ass harder than anything I've done before, it has no effect at all. We both know how over this is, but her citadel has to burn to the ground. So I fuck her.

Oh how I fuck her.

I fuck her with the true and holy ego of a man who never loses. I fuck her with the indignation of someone who actually had to try this time. Like I hate her and want to cut off her hair and burn it. My trembling, throbbing cock, so full and arrested, hits the back of her with every push. Scrapes the sides of her as she clings onto it. As her body begs and aches and tells me that she needs more. 

Cry all you want, little girl. I can stay this hard for hours.

But when she accepts it, really accepts it, the words tumble out of her mouth so quick I think she startles herself.

"I submit."

"Say it again."

"I submit."

"Again."

"I submit."

"You hold nothing back?"

"No."

"You give yourself to me?"

"Yes."

"Say that I own you."

"You own me."

"Say that you need it."

"Oh, Daddy, I need it."

"Say that you can't believe how much I make you cum."

"I truly can't believe how much you make me cum."

"Then cum again for me, one last time."

"I can't. I'm so tired." She wails like the end of the world, like it's all on fire.

My hand slide from her ass to her ample hips and take a firm hold. My knees bend in a way I couldn't sustain for more than a few minutes and my posture slumps forward. I'm perfectly aligned now. The curve of my cock fits to stroke the high, inside wall of her along with everything else. And, prepared as I can be, I finish it with a thousand rapid bursts. I push her for punishment, I push to end it.

"Cum for me now you fucking beautiful slut or I swear that I will keep this going until dawn. Do you hear me? Tighten that cunt up and squirt all over me or this isn't over."

She cums without a word, and it's a torrent, but not as much as the first few times. I cum, too, and it's pretty much the same. My ass hits the ground and my back hits the wall as the black spots of dizziness and fatigue overwhelm me. I drift to sleep that way as I hear the sounds of her relieved tears usher her away as well. 



Rift Ch. 02



Chapter 2: The Beach

Smoldering, Lis marched alongside the wagon. "Slaves walk, indeed!" She thought. Hearing nothing from his normally loquacious sweetheart, Larry knew her mood. "So far, so good," he mused, "she's adapting nicely." Still he knew there were some rough roads ahead. In the distance he spied another wagon on the road, headed in the opposite direction. This was going to be interesting.

Eventually Lis noticed the oncoming traffic. Then the fact of her nudity penetrated her anger. "Larry!" No response. "Larry! There are people coming!" No response. "Damn it Larry, give me some clothes!" No response. Now the group was upon them. Lis blushed scarlet; her chest, neck and cheeks aflame. She tried to bluff through and preserve some dignity. And then Larry stopped to chat. Stopped! Well, she'd just keep going. And off she trudged, head up, shoulders back, eyes straight ahead.

Larry's voice stopped her in her tracks. "Slave! I didn't give you permission to leave." She waited back to him. "Come meet my friend, Chuck." A deep breath raised her shoulders and dropped them on her exhale. She returned, feigning indifference to her situation. "The position!" Larry demanded. She glanced at him and met steel. She dropped. Larry apologized for his slave's bad manners, explaining she was new. Chuck nodded in comprehension.

Kneeling before this stranger was awful, wonderful, all rolled into one. He inspected her, then stooped to lift her breast, his finger and thumb pinching a nipple to test its reaction. She pulled back. Glancing out of the corner of her eye, she saw Chuck was amused. Anger surged. Larry would pay for this! The men continued to chat, Chuck forgetting her as they exchanged small talk. Through her anger, she heard "trade." Trade what? She began eavesdropping in earnest. Larry and Chuck talking about trading slaves! Her! Panic flowed through her body, totally displacing anger. She wanted only to have him hold her. He couldn't, wouldn't trade her.

Chuck called, 'Marissa! Come.' Around from the far side of Chuck's wagon came a dark young woman, olive skin, angel's wing eyebrows, pert young breasts tipped in rosebuds. Altogether attractive. Marissa dropped to the ground near Larry's feet. He looked at her, walking behind her, tested her breast and nipple reaction, and the firmness of her flesh. Lis watched in horror. Fear made her heart a triphammer. Her eyes followed Larry, searching his face for a clue. The men stepped away and continued to talk. Then they were out of earshot.

Marissa asked, "What's he like, your Master?" 

"Insufferable," Lis spat. "He's made me walk while he rode. I'm hot, tired, and madder than hell."

In reply, Marissa just laughed. "At least he doesn't beat you!"

"Beat me! I'd kill him!" Lis's anger was tinged at the edges with fear. Larry never said anything about beatings. He'd never hurt her. But he was talking about trading her. Surely he wouldn't trade her. "Shit! They're shaking hands." The men walked back to their women, chatting. As he mounted the wagon, Chuck called, "Marissa," get moving you lazy slut!

Larry didn't call her at all, just got on the wagon and started on his way. She ran to catch up. Again she was puzzled, upset and getting no answers. But she followed, knowing nothing of this world or how to return to the rift. 

A couple of hours later, they stopped at a jewel of a lake. It had a wide sandy marge, clear water, warm sun and the most beautiful vistas she'd seen in a long time. Larry tended the horse, pointing out that this was her job now, and told her to get the blankets and luncheon from the wagon. She did so will ill-concealed bad temper, dropping the food and blankets in a pile on the sand and continuing to walk purposefully into the water.

The cool water slid up her hot thighs, then washed over her pussy, sending little shivers through her body. Her nipples puckered, and she continued to walk. Then meeting equilibrium, she slid over into a slow crawl. She missed the sound of Larry's feet pounding across the beach and his resounding splat into the water. She did not miss his hands grabbing her legs and spinning her to face him. Her feet could not touch bottom, and the water came to the top of his shoulders, but he could hold her. "Angry, pet?"

Fire spat from her eyes. He kissed her long and hard. After a few seconds, her lips yielded to his probing tongue and then followed with her own. Her breasts floated between them surmounted by hard nubbins the product of her rising passions and the cold water. The slippery feel of the water between them was exciting, swirling in layers of different temperatures. His hands sought her sex, her hands, his. Losing purchase, she began to slide down his body before her legs wrapped around his waist. Her hands released his growing interest and began to scull, putting her body in a float just under his face. 

He walked her gently to shallower water and began to kiss and lick the nearest portions of her body. His hands roamed with a slick of water between his touch and her body. Her eyes closed, and breathing deepened. Her legs parted and she drifted in a haze. Larry slid her around and slid her legs on either side of him. His hands began to massage her tender parts, then separated the lips, seeking the center of her being, the little pearl that was his key to her body, her mind. A gentle sip as his fingers found the entrance to her jade gate. His interest mounted as his breath quickened, blood flooding to the seat of his desire. His sex rose and the head of his cock tickled her buttocks, teasing. A delicious communion continued for some minutes. Then she gripped him with her legs, kissed him deeply, sliding onto his cock, the heat of her cunny causing him to grow inside her. Lis began a slow, steady pumping of her hips, sliding halfway down his cock, bringing the sensitive head back and forth between the cool water and her hot target, past the ring of muscle which she contracted to pull him in with each stroke. Larry's eyes closed. His hands held her upper body by her nipples, rolling them, with each twist and pull, Lis gasped, breathing more and more shallowly.

Suddenly, she disengaged and struck out in a powerful, fast backstroke. Laughing at the look on his face teasing, and saying, "Can't catch me!" She rolled over and took off in earnest. The globes of her buttocks just visible beyond the froth at her feet as she widened the gulf between them. Lis had only one problem, Larry took the shore line where he could walk and stand and she could not. As long as she could swim she could avoid Larry. When she could no longer keep herself afloat, she was his. This soon became apparent to her. When she came in to where she could stand, he advanced on her.

The water was no longer cooling, it was cold. Her nipples began to ache, and she was getting tired. May as well give in gracefully. A quick surface dive and she came up sliding her body up his, wrapping her arms around his back and under his arms, and came face up through the water to smile at him. Teasing again. Unmoved, he asked, "Back again?" She began kissing his neck, his shoulders, anything she could reach. Her bare skin pressed against his softened his resolve and hardened his interest. Backing onto the beach, he pulled her to the blankets. They lay for some time, kissing, petting, touching. Their earlier urgency returned, but with slightly less intensity. In its place was a strong urge to reach the other's heart, soul, the very essence of their beings.

Lis lay back, propped up on one elbow, her eyes aglow with the sight of Larry's body laid out before her. Her hand slid over his chest and shoulders, memorizing the form she loved so. She leaned over from time to time, to kiss him here and there, on his neck, chest, to suck a nipple, tickle his ear. Larry's eyes were closed , drinking in her adoration. One of his hands was tucked between her legs, and he stroked her cunny, just touching and teasing, worshiping in his way.

The kissing began in earnest and their passions rose again. His tongue explored her mouth, as his urgency grew to match his cock, again throbbing with desire, he began to push her back. His kisses slid down her neck, lingering at her breast to nibble and suck at her nipples as Lis arched her back to make her breasts more available to him, her hand behind his head, pulling him closer, reveling in his tongue and his nearness. He continued to nibble and kiss her, his tongue darting out for tastes, across her abdomen. Heaven couldn't be better! She luxuriated in his attentions. She felt wetness sliding from her pussy, coating her buttocks, her clit throbbing, her knees spreading and her hips lifting to his attentions. His slow progress was drawing soft involuntary moans from her throat. The attentions were exquisite. He reached her sex and parted the lips. His fingers slipped into her cunny and pulled the silky liquid upward. He paid gentle attention to the inner lips and opened them, and began to softly pull his tongue across the exposed bud. Lis's hips began a subtle pulse. Her stomach muscles bunched, drawing her shoulders up. Her breathing became ragged as she approached orgasm. Hanging on the edge, she began pushing against his heated tongue, little noises of pleasure encouraging his efforts. He stopped his artful tonguing and smiled at her. "Oh, Larry, please, please ... ." she begged him to continue, to fuck her.

As he waited, she took matters into her own hands, catching him unawares as she pushed him onto his back, straddled him and slid herself onto his waiting iron-hard erection, driving his full length into her with a groan. She held him there, her pussy squeezing him, drawing him deeper, feeling him reach her depths. Glorious! She began to steadily pump her hips, head back, reveling in the feelings. Larry began to join her, hips lifting to meet hers, his cock beginning to pulse, his orgasm surging through him, and Lis began to cry out as she joined him, her voice blending with his guttural groans of effort. Their rhythm slowed, and stopped. Lis, smiling, dropped her head and opened her eyes, sighing in deep satisfaction. She slid her hands up his chest until her body pressed against his, holding him to her.

Nuzzling his neck, Lis said in a soft, slow voice, "Larry, I adore you." 



Rift Ch. 03



Note: A dear fan suggested that Larry and Chuck were hardly appropriate names for Masters. So..... They have become Lawrence and Charles. Thanks for bearing with me, dear readers.

* * * * * * * * *    

Mollified , Lis pitched in to help pack up the wagon. How could she have been angry at Lawrence? God! She loved him so. Passing to and fro, she reached to touch him, anywhere. With everything put away, the horse in its traces, Lawrence climbed up to the seat and then patted the seat next to himself. "Me?" Lis asked. He nodded. She clambered up and snuggled next to him for the trip to his home, her hand possessively resting on his thigh, gently stroking.

A few hours later, Lawrence pulled up to his home. "My lady, your castle." Lis was impressed. She would have been happy with a hovel and this was not a hovel. In fact, it did bear a strong resemblance to a manor or castle.

"We'll have guests, soon. I suggest you prepare." Lawrence said.

"Who?" Lis asked.

"Charles and his slave girl."

"Just when I get you to myself! You invite guests?!"

"Yes, my dear. You seemed interested in Charles. I thought I'd give you the chance to get to know him a bit better."

Lis and Lawrence proceeded inside. Inside the doorway, Lawrence again kissed her, and she him. When he kissed her, Lis felt like she would melt from the fire ignited in her being by his touch. She was prepared to spend the rest of her life right here, kissing him. After a suitable interval, Lawrence again reminded her of her guests who would arrive momentarily. "I don't know where anything is," she complained.

"I'll help, this time." Lawrence said.

They set out glasses, wine, snacks, cheese. As Lis was still wandering around looking at the layout of her new home, a knock sounded at the door. "Company," Lawrence called. "Answer the door."

Again conscious of her nudity, Lis opened the door, covering herself with its opacity and peeping around the edge. "Come in, please, Master," she said. "Hello, Marissa." Marissa nodded in return, following her master.

Charles greeted Lawrence with a knowing grin. The two men went to the sitting room and settled themselves in the pair of comfortable chairs before the fire, which was beginning to warm the room and chase away the shadows of evening. Lis and Marissa trailed. There was no place for them to sit, other than the floor. Marissa settled gracefully to the floor at Charles's feet. Lis started to settle on the arm of Lawrence's chair. "Would our guest like something to drink?" Prodded by Lawrence's suggestion, Lis hurried to offer wine, something to eat. 

"Just wine," Charles answered. She poured glasses of wine for the men and delivered them. The men began small talk about where to find good slaves. Lis stood behind Lawrence. Boring and dangerous topic, she thought. She began languorously drawing her fingertips up the side of his neck, playing around his ear and then in his hair, down the back of his neck, and a little shoulder rub. She bent down, pressing her breasts on his neck and shoulders, and whispered, "Wanna play?"

A smile and a quick tweak of her nipple was his answer. Her response was immediate. She blushed furiously because of the audience. After some additional time was spent in chatting, Lawrence asked his guests, "Care to join us upstairs?"

"Thought you'd never ask," replied Charles. "Come along Marissa."

Lawrence took the lead and Lis brought up the rear, wondering what Lawrence had in mind. He knew of her one "swap" experience, so why this when that was so miserable. Oh, well, may as well give in gracefully.

They settled into the large bedroom upstairs. "Ladies! Our guest seems unreasonably encumbered for this project. Help him into appropriate attire." Marissa practically leaped out of her skin, rushing to do his bidding, kneeling at Charles's feet and working his boots, belt and trousers. Lis sauntered over and began unbuttoning his shirt: cuff, cuff, top button, second button slowly while staring into his eyes. She slid his vest off, then his shirt, admiring his fitness and mentally comparing it to Lawrence's. Lawrence won. Charles was slender and masculine, but not overly well- defined or bulky. She smiled a secret smile. 

As she stood folding Charles's shirt, Lawrence came up behind her and demanded her attention. He'd taken care of his own encumbrances and was now skin to skin behind her. A delicious feeling. Marissa was still on the floor, but beginning attentions to Charles's semi-soft cock. Visual stimulation was having its effect on Lis and she could feel Lawrence's rising interest in the same view as his hands slipped around her ribs to fondle her breasts and play with her hardening nipples. She pressed against him, subtly undulating her body side to side leading with her shoulders, her buttocks sliding over his now erect member. She reached behind her to play with him trailing fingers up the inner fronts of his thighs, upward to the fold of thigh and abdomen, up over his hips to grasp his buttocks and pull him to her.

Charles's moan drew her attention. Marissa now had him fully engorged and his attention was focused on his shaft as it slid into her mouth and out, one hand forming an extension of her warm maw and the other tickling and teasing his balls. The glistening shaft caught the light, its purple head making an appearance, followed by Marissa's tongue which then seemed to tease it back as it slid into the hot cradle of her mouth.

Groaning mightily, Charles disengaged from Marissa's attentions, and drew her to standing, momentarily crushing her against his body before turning her to face Lis. The men formed a hard sandwich to the girls' softnesses. Pressing them together, their breasts available to both mens' hands, their cocks slid in the dark warm centers between the girls' legs, now coating them with a slick wetness. Not quite knowing whose hands were touching where was titillating. Marissa reached between Lis's legs to tickle and tease her and the member she found there. Lis's hand massaged Marissa's nubbin, reaching back to draw slickness from her pussy, and teasing Charles's cock with a gentle massage against the opening it sought. She was rewarded with a strong thrust first from Marissa, then from Charles. At the same time, searing heat was rising in her clit, begging stimulation. Lawrence's cock teased at her sensitive opening and she canted her hips to receive him.

Lawrence herded them all to a tumble on the waiting bed. Access became easier. Lis moved to offer Lawrence some of the pleasures Marissa had delivered to Charles. She sucked gently on his balls, taking one then the other into her mouth and running her tongue over the surface, probing gently. She then moved up his shaft, stroking gently and running her tongue around the head before engulfing it, deep in her throat. Lawrence began ministering to Marissa's clit, eliciting cries from her as her hand stroked Charles's cock. Charles sucked Lis's nipples then moved down her body to her shaved sex, tickling and sucking moans from her.

In the tangle of arms legs and mouths, things moved and changed until the male/female pairings sorted out again, each moving toward his or her own orgasm with the sights and sounds of the other pair driving them to new delights of sensation. Then, sated, they snuggled into the comfort of their partner's arms, kissing quietly, and stroking the excitement into the ultimate calm.

Soon the guests retired to the guest suite. Lawrence and Lis kissed and walked and touched and hugged toward the tub and refreshing bubbles, water and mutual scrubbings.



Rift Ch. 04



Some weeks passed. Lis and Lawrence settled into the rhythm of life together. They found interests to share, exploring the countryside, finding favorite places to picnic, a lovely little grotto where they could swim. Without the incessant electronic jabber of their former techno world, they had time to appreciate each other, good books, a meal carefully prepared, the play of firelight, the sound of music when one or the other would play.

One morning, as the sun blushed its dawn, the early bird of the two woke and grinned. Fun time! She'd wanted to surprise Lawrence this way for some time. His breathing indicated deep slumber. Perfect. They'd been up late last night. She slid from bed, cleaned up, scrubbed teeth, shaved quickly, but carefully, perfume, a little make up. Lis grabbed a black teddy and slipped into it. She felt dressed to do the town.

She slowly lifted the covers off Lawrence, in order to keep from disturbing him. His breathing was her barometer. While looking at him, she began purposefully to masturbate, proceeding until she felt dampness as a response to her own touch. Now, to get him ready. With extreme slowness, she slid onto the bed behind him and began to roll him onto his back, using her body as a wedge to prevent his body from tensing and waking him. After a few minutes, she had him where she wanted him. Her nipples hardened in anticipation. She checked and was wetter than ever. Borrowing some of her dampness on her fingers, she carefully lifted his flaccid cock and began very gentle, very subtle ministrations to tease it to erectness. A hitch in his breathing caused her to freeze and glance quickly at his face for signs he was awakening, but his breathing settled again and she began her tender urgings once more.

There! He was ready. Balancing very carefully, she positioned her knees on either side of his body, fitted the head of his cock to her pussy and slid down the glorious hardness of him. His hips rose to meet her and she laid her body on his, and began whispering in his ear, kissing him, and murmuring, "Wake up, sleepyhead! Time for the chores!" As she did this her hips pulsed in a regular up and down rhythm and he grew with each stroke to fill her.

"Good morning, sweet cakes! What are you up to?"

"'Tis not I who's up!" Lis laughed. She kissed him soundly and sat back. She could feel him filling her, making a delicious hot center to her being. She leaned forward offering her breasts for his attention, slipping up his shaft and back down again. Lis hummed with pleasure as he pulled her nipple into his mouth, nibbling and sucking. In response, her hips began to press her swollen clit into his body, her breathing deepened and settled into a faster pace. Pulling back from him, she began a steady rocking motion until she felt his orgasm begin its deep throb within her and he voiced his ecstacy, and soon matched him with her own voice her hot cunny almost sucking him dry. Sweat shone on her body, her hips twitched in a slowing pace reaching languor. She collapsed on his chest, her mouth at his neck and purred her pleasure. His hands stroked her back lightly, almost tickling in their feather touch. From time to time he reached to kiss her mouth gently and she lifted her face to his. At length she dropped into a doze. 

Suddenly, his arms wrapped around her like an iron vise and he flipped their bodies over, assuming the ascendant position. Raising his body on one arm to get a better view, he said, "Minx! Vixen! Bitch!"

Lis grinned at this teasing and lifted her hips to meet his. What a delight this man who never seemed to tire of her. He began a campaign on her body with his mouth, beginning with her hypersensitive ears and neck, moving to the soft skin of her breasts. Her hands moved to direct his path, arching her back to offer her nipples to his attention. He deftly dodged her, gathering her wrists in one hand and pinning them. He disengaged and slid perpendicular to her, his still erect member painting a path of their commingled juices over her body.

Lawrence continues his assault on her senses, feathery touches, followed by delicate tongue tastings, a little air blown on damp delicate skin followed by warm breath, warmer lips and a gentle tongue. He has loosed her hands and they play on his shoulders, his neck, through his hair, his ear as Lis surrenders to his touch. He weaves magic in her senses. As he works his way down her body, seeking the prize of which his most fond, his body swings parallel with hers. His hands seek the inside of her thighs, spreading her legs, opening her to him. She is now moaning involuntarily with nearly every breath. Her hands seek his legs and begin their own search. The sensitive skin on the inside of his thighs responds to her touch and his legs open to her, in invitation. Lis finds and begins gentle attentions to his testicles, pulled tight to his body and loosening at her urging, to submit to her probing and touch. He has arrived at the center of her, spread her lips and now strokes drawing her moistness to slick his target. The feel of his touch and anticipating his mouth drives Lis to the edge of orgasm. She is now begging for his tongue, his mouth, his hand to help her slip over the edge. As if to drive him to a like frenzy, her hand begins to stroke his cock, causing it to swell and his hips to press into her attentions. Each is drifting into that ecstatic blindness with all feeling and all thought centered on driving the intense pleasure to its apex and the delicious release of the tension that heralds orgasm. Lawrence's cock is now throbbing and begins it's jettison release; Lis's cunt spasms over and over. Lawrence's voice again splits the morning, and a duet is sounded as Lis finds her release.

In a few minutes, they are again in each other's arms, cuddling and reveling in the delightful glow that surrounds them, as if they were the only two in the world. And in this world, they are. 



Rifted



Seattle to Shanghai. That was the route of the first commercial Rift Gate. Not everyone's crazy about the name they picked, but just take a look the other few they considered. The Warp Gate? Doesn't get much more cliched than that. The Teleporter? I stand corrected. The Bilateral Trans-Space Unifier? That's a mouthful. The Portal? Already taken.

With the opening of that first Rift Gate, all traditional forms of air-transport, sea-transport, and space-transport were nullified overnight. The nature of the gate was simple, really. In Seattle was an eighty-foot by ten-foot metal doorway; in Shanghai was its mirror image. The two gates were joined in space allowing all matter and radiation to transfer uninterrupted and instantly, a seamless bridge in the fabric of here and there.

My head spins when I think about the explanation, but it goes something like, they trick space into thinking one point is a different point, two points are the same point. Gullible, the universe. To make a rift, it takes a plane of super-dense aluminum—which becomes the gate—a micro black hole, a dash of dark matter, and after it's made a never-ending supply of electricity to maintain the link. If a rift loses power and goes down for too long, the aluminum "forgets" the rift and has to be re-treated.

You'd never know the two eighty-foot gates were what they were by looking at them. They appeared simply doorways to another chamber, a stream of people going on the right, another coming on the left. They were set in unimpeded walls to help foster this illusion. The only things that gave them away were the windows above to the clouds outside.

At first, people were reluctant to use the gates. There were one or two electronic glitches that turned people off the things, unexpected shut-downs resulting in half-people and quarter-people. In time the technology improved and there were fewer surprise failures. Systems were invented that detected all possible shutdowns well in advance.

Slowly, and with the help of their ridiculous convenience, the rifts garnered the trust of the public. Laws were passed allowing their more everyday use. Rifts to the next town. Rifts to work. Rifts to school, and even rifts to the supermarket. Not so long ago they even hit the personal market. Last I heard, you can buy door-sized rifts at one-hundred-thousand per linked pair, which means that the doorway in the apartment in Stockholm can lead directly to the family cabin in northern Saskatchewan. Just think of the hell these things will cause immigration authorities.

Of course, it was the military who really got creative with the things. Back in 2075, when we invaded the Australian Fascist state, our bombers no longer carried the nukes. Simply rifted them straight out their assholes all the way from the bomb storage facility in southern Nevada. That turned out to be a double-edged sword, the kind of elementary mistake that afterwards when you see the error you scratch your head and say, "Yeah. . . Should have seen that coming."

A damned Aussie smart missile flew through the rift on a bomber's undercarriage, into that nuclear storage facility, and Nevada became one giant fucking crater in the single biggest loss of life in that war, with a mushroom-cloud so big it tickled Zeus's balls. The single biggest explosion on planet Earth since whichever meteorite killed the dinosaurs. Not that it helped the Aussies win. We got them in the end.

But that was a long time ago, and young men like me no longer have to worry about getting drafted and sent overseas to shoot dingoes. The biggest worry I have this morning of my nineteenth birthday is getting to my eight o'clock class on time at Summerwest Collegiate. If I'm late for French again, Mrs. Harris'll have my head—in her own subtle way. She'll make me recite in front of the class.

Rnnnnk— Rnnnnk— Rnnnnk— Rnnnnk— Rnnnnk

I smack my alarm clock and it shuts up. 7:20. I really hate that horrible grating sound. I should get a new one, one with birds chirping. Or energizing music like that song by Carl Orff.

I hop out of bed and toss on my clothes for the day selecting a loud, yellow-blue tee and white shorts. I leave my room and skip down the stairs to the kitchen. Alice, my sister, is already there and eating breakfast at the table. She has prepared herself toast and eggs. Probably was up at 6:30. I pour some cereal into a bowl, splash in some milk, and take a seat opposite her. We eat in a pregnant silence. Who will throw the first jab, only time will tell.

Mom meanders into the kitchen. "Morning, Cliff."

"Morning, Mom."

Mom meanders out. Obviously forgot that today is my birthday. Bitch.

I wolf down the cereal.

A series of melodic rings fills the house. Our elaborate doorbell. Now that's the kind of sound I wouldn't mind waking up to.

"Someone at the door," I say.

Alice sits there, unmoved. 

In the distance I hear mom shout, "I'm in the bathroom!"

It's down to me or her.

"Get the door," I say.

She rolls her eyes. "You're closer."

I stew for a moment. We stare at each other. Neither flinches. Caving, I loudly scrape my chair back and walk down the hall to the front door. Its blurred glass panes let in the morning sun in distorted waves of brightness. A tall, female figure in red is shadowed behind it, and even though the image is hazy, I can tell from the head of long, strawberry blond hair that it is my Aunt Sandy.

I open the door.

"Happy Birthday, birthday boy!"

"Hey, Aunt Sand."

She outstretches her arms and her massive tits ripple buoyantly, tightly contained in a red halter top. The wide, swollen nipples tell me there's no bra. I wrap my arms around her and squeeze. The breasts mash into my chest. I give her a quick kiss to the lips, she hugs me, I hug her, and we rock like that for a moment.

"Oooh, my little Cliffy is already nineteen!"

I pull away and sneak a peek down the hall to make sure Alice isn't watching. She isn't. Coast clear. I reach up and squeeze aunt's right, pendulous breast, saying, "You'll be driving the customers crazy today."

She leans in close as I tweak her nipple with my thumb and whispers, "I know."

I cup my fingers flat under the breast and jiggle it. It dances beautifully. I sigh at the sight, and she titters. Damn you, mother nature, for making us men so subject to these simple things, breasts. But they aren't simple. Their shape and motions are hypnotic. They tell my male mind that this is a healthy woman ripe for the bearing of children, and therefore very attractive to my genes' interest in propagating the species. But it kind of takes the fun out of it when you break things down into terms of science. Tits are great, and that's enough for me.

My fingers explore the bra-less contours of her chest. She lets me play. It is my birthday after all.

Bras have become somewhat of a rarity these days. It's even legal for women to go topless, which a few of the more adventurous types at school do if they be confident enough in their endowments. And oh, should they be! What glorious tits I have seen, what amazingly developed girls frolicking naked in the sun and wind like they once did in the gardens of archaic man. Oh the joy of phys-ed and the warm up run! But I digress.

The sound of shuffling feet behind me prompts me to yank my hand from my aunt's chest.

"Sis!" Aunt Sand says. "Good to see you." She walks past me to Mom who is coming out of the side hall where the bathroom is. They embrace.

"Morning, Sand," she says flatly. Mom tends to speak in a monotone much unlike my bubbly aunt. Their careers so much as spell out their differences in character. Mom's a legal secretary; Aunt Sand runs a flower boutique.

"Did you know it's this strapping young man's birthday?"

Mom turns an unchanging expression towards me. "I do now. Happy Birthday, Cliff."

"Why thank you, Mum," I say in a robotic voice mimicking her monotone.

"I swear!" Aunt Sand says. "Doesn't remember her own son's birthday."

Mom levels aunt a hard look. "Some of us have more important things to worry about than clipping the daisies."

"Yes," Aunt Sand says. "Some of us have to worry about which file goes in which duo-tang! Now before I forget, I have a present for you, Cliffy." She taps my nose. "Wait one minute."

She goes out the front door and bends over to the right, lending me a spectacular view of her wide, womanly rear in white short-shorts. If I could up and jump. . .

I start. There appears to be something in her shorts, something covering her crotch. A kind of bulge, but before I can get a good look she stands back up with something in her hands. She comes through the door with a small, black box wrapped in white ribbons, a white bow on the top where they meet. It has a simple lifting lid. The only things restraining it are the ribbons.

"For you, Cliff," she says, and offers it with a smile.

I take it. "Awe. Thanks, Aunt Sand. You shouldn't have."

I yank at the ribbons.

"No!" she blurts in an urgent tone. Mom and I look at her with surprise.

Aunt Sand laughs. "It's just. . . It's a surprise! You can't open it yet. Not here. Not till you're at school."

I've got no idea what she could give me that has to do with school. "Alright. . ."

"It will help you. . . focus on your studies." She winks. "I promise."

"God, Sand, you look like such a slut in that," Mom says.

Aunt's Sand's superb hangers do tend to jut out in that flimsy top, and the lack of a bra leaves little to the imagination, the areolae plump and vital.

Unconsciously I lick my lips.

"Better than looking like a frumpy nun," Aunt Sand says brightly. "Besides, I sell twice as many flowers when I'm a little more. . . relaxed with my wardrobe."

Mom smiles. It looks sincere this time. "I bet," she says. She isn't much worse off in the chest department, so I bet she can empathize what weapons breasts can be.

I check my watch. 7:51. "Shit!" I say. "I gotta run. Thanks again, Aunt Sand."

"You're welcome, honey. Hurry up now. Don't wanna be late for school again."

"You'd think he was your son, for Chrissakes. Let's see you spend seven days of the week with him, and then treat him like he's your little cupcake."

"Chill, Mom," I say as I leave the two women in the hall.

I run upstairs, hurriedly brush my teeth, and toss my binder into my backpack. I rush back down to the front by which time mom and aunt are talking distantly in the living room. Alice is already gone.

I jet.

The third-street rift station is two blocks away. Running down the sidewalk I reach it at three to eight and search out the one in twenty doorways that rifts to Summerwest. I walk through it behind two other tardy students and step out into the rift hub adjoining the school parking lot: like the station I left but fewer doors. The tall, brown pile that is Summerwest looms before me. I run through its glass doors.

Flying down the light-blue halls I find the room with the placard that reads, "Room 203: Mrs. Harris," and enter the class of twenty-some other students. Most are slumped in their desks with bleary eyes. I lean my pack against mine and ease inside. The bell strikes eight with a loud Rnnnnk. What bastard gave the school bell the same annoying buzz as my alarm clock? Students are in bad enough spirits without having to listen to that nails-in-a-blender bullshit.

In the desk left of me sits Bill. He grins and shakes his head at my punctuality. Mrs. Harris is busy at the blackboard writing the name of today's lesson. She is a stout brunette in a black, business looking getup, decent tits, exceptional ass. She turns and faces the class, denying me its heart-shaped image, and shouts, "The Past Parfait!"

I pull my binder out from my pack and spot the gift beneath. It'll have to wait. I start to write with the rest of the class and soon forget my zebra present as my mind is inundated with French verbs. The minutes drag past. Mrs. Harris eventually stops talking and lets us work on the conjugation exercises. The thought of my gift comes back to me and I decide to take a peek.

Reaching into the pack I yank at the bow. It unties at once, the ribbons dropping free. I ease the lid off the black velvety box and set it aside. Inside are two things: a written note, and a long, grey cylinder with a matte texture, not perfectly round but ovular, about nine inches long by four in length, three in width. It has a lid on one end built smoothly into the frame. I pull the cylinder out of the pack—rather light—and see in silvery letters on the side: Rift Tube.

"What in the. . ." I mutter, and shake it. Nothing rattles. Feels empty.

"What'cha got there, Cliffy?" Bill says, snatching it from me. He sets it on his desk. "Looks like a jumbo glasses case. . ."

I grab it back. "Fuck off!" I say. "It's my birthday present." I shove it into my pack.

"Settle!" he says. "Just lookin'." And then quieter—chaffing: "Happy Birthday."

I shake my head, and unfold the written note in my lap. It says:

Cliffy!!! Don't open the tube in class!!! Open it in the bathroom in private!!! The lid is reversible, put it back in upside-down!!!! But only in private!!!! Have fun Sweetie......Love Your Aunt Sand.....xoxoxo.

"Hmm. . ."

Students are allowed to use the washrooms at their discretion, so after a moment's deliberation I decide to hell with it, zip up my pack, and head for the door.

"What'cha doin'!" Bill calls to my back, and tosses a paper ball. It hits my leg. I flip him the bird once I'm safely in the hall out of the view of Mrs. Harris, and as I leave hear her rag on him about throwing things. There's nothing really hostile in our banter. It's just the thing between me and Bill. Most guys our age test each other's mettle.

I walk down the hall, take a bend, and enter the male lavatories. No one else is there. I pick a stall.

Taking a seat on the toilet I lock the door. Taking the tube out of my pack I examine it under the bright fluorescent lights. On the lid near the edge are two silvery buttons. I have no idea what they do. I clench the lid with my fingers and pull. It hisses free. I stare into the black abyss of the tube. Nothing's inside. I probe in with my fingers. It has a soft, cushiony wall, but there's still nothing.

"Well, fuck."

I feel cheated. I flip it upside down and shake. Nothing comes out. But then I. . . Oh God then I. . . Then I notice the lid in my hand!

"My. . . Fucking. . . God. . ."

On the bottom of the oval lid in my palm, which had faced the inside of the tube, is a pussy. A great, pink pair of blossoming pussy lips protruding from the oval, the only surface area of which not a vision of the female sex is the faintest of borders. Other that that it's all pussy. A clit proud in its hood, a meaty crevice of pink, and all the better because I know it's flesh and blood and not artificial. The quality doesn't tell me this; there are the most amazingly realistic fake toys these days. What tells me it's real is the fact I'm starting to piece together what the text on the tube means, and the fact that I recognize the pussy. It's Aunt Sand's. Aunt Sand's pussy in the palm of my hand, the petals parted slightly inviting a stiff dick.

"Those clever bastards. . ."

Rift engineering has impressed me severely. A tiny doorway straight to my aunt's cunt! That's what the bulge in her shorts was this morning. . . The lid to her tube. I wonder where she is right now. Sitting in her office at the back of the shop? Or maybe she's with a customer? Ha! And all while her pussy inches from my eyes.

"Well it's time she knows I've opened her present."

I bring the pussy to my mouth and run my tongue up the length of her pink crevice, lashing it over the clit.





Rifted