Nocturnal Writhings
My pace matched the underground, ethno beat set by the synthesized fusion music from the evening before. It was powerfully evocative even now, as it had been through the recent dark hours after first having experienced it.
“Whyyyya’lookin’back, nig... I’ain’gon’ kiss y’ass,
Ya’ ge’me out ma’drawers… ya’think y’playin’ fas,
I migh’be fu-kin’ youu, but gonna nail yo’ bitch.
Don’be usin’ those finga’s, or I be makin’a fist...”
Def-nit a freak t’keep--- in ya’back pocket...
fo’ dat--- late...night...creep...”
The raunchy, alluring, lyrical patterns kept me mentally hovering a few inches off the ground as I padded lightly over the dirt path through the glade of woods which marked one of my running routes. It was the first path I had mapped out upon our arrival this summer at my in-law’s home, not then knowing my direction or destination.
Since college, this method of scoping out a new cityscape or countryside had been my preferred one for familiarization with an area. Running allowed both introspection and sight-seeing at a constant pace; good for getting the lay of the land and taking in the scenery. A person running didn’t as often miss things, good observation being a necessity. And it got the heart pumping. My natural curiosity had drawn me to this loop winding by the river, which I had followed for several miles that first morning at the Blackhearst homeplace two months before...
Familiar landmarks barely registered now as I fairly floated with the subliminal song from last night crowding my mind, tantalizing the memory. I had stopped by my younger twin-in-laws’ secluded home then. The screen door had been closed, unlatched, but the heavy oak door stood ajar. I could feel the mysterious beat from the boys’ synthesizer before hearing the music or making out their lyrics. The elusive rhythm inhaled me further into the hallway and toward their warren. Peering around that doorway, I had found the boys absorbed in a gamboling duet. But more than that: a private rave performance of mind-bending seductiveness. Amidst their music-making, both were unclothed and in a shared state of arousal.
The convoluted song was now somehow difficult to describe to myself, disjointed and syncopated the way my mind had stored it. Fleeting yet memorable at the same time, it had a flowing melody like a deep, steady ocean current. Later on last night, upon returning home, I had drifted to sleep in the sensual reverberations, reliving the sultry scene in the boys’ den where I had entered without their answer.
“Too high t’take a breath, too high t’take a step
Two wrongs don’make a right, three rights--make a left...
Highway t’heaven, I’m takin d’scenic... foll-win’ dat road, risin’ like d’phoenix,
walkin’ like a puppet, gots legs on ma’words,
Def’ a freak t’keep--in ya’back pocket…
fo’ dat--- late...night...creep...”
Their arching, bobbing cocks led their ebony bodies in the intricately complex Caribbean Macarena with a rap overlay. Swollen dicks touching, tapping, brushing. Their arms and legs, heads and torsos, intertwining and writhing, at once together--then separately--then together again. A dance of incredibly synced quality by the light of flittering candles. Their performance had enveloped me in a pin-prickling, whole body shiver by the optics. I had just stared. Transfixed.
“Tie me to the tracks… by the train o’yo’ thoughts,
bellies touchin’ skin… by dat twelve-pack bought,
Trigga’ finga’ itchin’, trigga’ finga’ itchin’...
trigga’ finga’ itchin’, trigga’ fixin’ta itch,
ahhhh...nic...nic...nic.”
They would not have seen me if they had looked--- and their eyes did, indeed, pass over me--- but the eroticists only had mind’s eyes for their strongly synergized choreography and libidinous lyrics. The combined totality cocooned the two in a cloistered place only they knew. No one else was invited. Not sexual, yet entirely sexual. Their movements illustrated a burlesque of libertine expressions, breathtakingly lustful by the display. I could not shake it. I did not want to.
“Rest in peace, say d’gang... ‘cause I’m fresh-- wit’--- d’dev-il...
Rest in peace, say d’gang... ’cause ’dey kill------ d’emselves...
You--- go, bro--- try-in’… t’get......
fresh..like..this..”
I wanted to know more. The niche into which I had had but a brief glimpse was something special that only twins share. Just like the discreet vernacular of which we, their family, were aware but not made privy, I had now stumbled onto this...this inconceivable secret jive dialect. My senses had enlightened me of something akin to it before now, but the manifestation was remarkable.
“I jus’can’t see-ma’self... livin’ in a house o’mir--rors...
put dat in t’place where... it bouncin’..off..d’doors.
Trigga finga’ itchin’, trigga finga’ itchin’...trigga’ fixin’at itch...
Ahhh…nic...nic...nic...”
Cal and Coy, the older twins, had an awesome rapport. Cal had shown me. But nothing close to these younger boys. This performance validated that. It was not meant for anyone but themselves. Li’l Bow Wow would be proud to call it his. And he’d be boned-up doing it. I was smitten and couldn’t let go.
Reluctantly, pulling myself silently away, I had left the pair to their private personal devices...forgetting completely why I had stopped in. I sure wouldn’t forget what I had happened upon.
Afterward, upon arriving home, I had crept into bed next to Cal and spooned over to his heated, naked form, my focus still bent to the psychic vibe pervading my consciousness. I had been absolutely mesmerized by that phenomenal aura.
I dreamed a strange province through the next hours with my husband. On the one hand, I knew he was there, feeling him respond to my body, turning and enfolding me in his long arms without reaching a completely coherent state, as he was wont to do.
On the other, I never left that ephemeral creation of Loy’s and Roy’s, the one envisioned just a short while before. As my man spread me open, entering and making me whole, I vicariously experienced the young twins’ own hedonic climax. I knew they were surely writhing together, entwined in a carnal finale as I throbbed together with my Calumet. Erotic, metaphysical unions. Cal and me fucking while dreaming their fucking, while they were truly fucking...mmmmm.
Now, running in the pre-dawn dimness, I was like a man in a shadowy jungle filled by Sen-surround sounds, and fears, and longings. Perceiving some Haitian voodoo ritual playing out in a remote, smoky clearing. I could see and feel vestiges of the boys and the vibe they had unwittingly shared. But I could only hoard the emanations, never catching the source...
In the midst of this continuing reverie, my head shrieked sudden pain. A low-hanging branch had scraped me, I thought, until the flapping of huge wings and swirling eddies of agitation informed me of a sharp set of talons within inches of a second strike. Instinctively ducking and rolling, I somersaulted away from the attack, shanking my ankle in the action. The huge set of wings flapped over and then upward, opposite me, their swooshing dissipating in the dark.
I quickly deduced that Hal, the great horned owl, had just mistaken my head for an early morning snack. The hand-sized claws had raked me. I could feel the blood well up, dribbling down across my face, fuzzling my vision. Hal, as I had named him, was a hugely handsome male more than four foot in wingspan with whom I had developed a connection over the preceding weeks.
Able to mimic a barn owl since a child, I had called to the big predator upon first hearing him hoot. The nocturnal hunter had replied in inquisitive puzzlement and a mutual interest ensued. The big raptor appeared to be awaiting my pre-dawn appearances after that, commonly following as I signaled my routes via hoots and audible footfalls.
This morning had been different by my silence. Perhaps the owl took insult at the snub. Regardless, I had to struggle one-legged to stand upon finding the inability to support weight on the twisted ankle. Removing my singlet to headband the bleeding, I gimped my way toward the riverside. Knowing it to be close by, desiring orientative refuge. Reaching running water in a few minutes, I adopted a good-sized fallen tree branch for a cane and a weapon, should Hal return.
As I descended to the bank below, a low, menacing voice probed at me, “What the hell you doin’ here? This here my spot.” Scared shitless at yet another intrusion, I grabbed my crutch by both hands and raised it defensively.
The voice personified from the lee side of a huge bald cypress rooting into both dry land and river. I heaved a sigh of relief as I recognized Voy Alfrederic Blackhearst, my fifth and youngest brother-in-law, picking his way across huge roots toward me. “Damn, Voy, you like to scared me to death, man,” I winced unsteadily at him.
“Is that Jake?” he queried, knowing my voice in a second. I lowered the stick, then myself, to the uneven ground, wobbly from the bleeding and blurred vision as well as my ankle. The muscular man, obviously relieved as well, came to me and squatted, quickly assessing blood, limp and weakness in a familiar, non-threatening form.
Dawn still an hour distant, we compared notes and I figured out Cal’s brother was setting out trout lines at this early hour. His cute wife, Winnie, had developed a pregnancy-induced passion for fresh fish with black licorice, I remembered. Voy was following very husbandly orders...I asked him if the licorice was biting this early.
A close copy of all the Blackhearst boys, Voy was tall and rangy. Darkly handsome and built like a brick shithouse. Reaching to my head, the baritone-voiced fisherman carefully unwrapped my makeshift bandage in the filtered moonlight. His deep armpit cupped my nose and face, overpowering me with the ripe smell of unwashed maleness. Despite my condition, this set my hormones to flowing. I readily drew in his essence as he bent over me to look at the marked scrapes left by Hal’s talons. “What the fuck you been up to, boy? These cuts are purty bad-ass.” Concern shaded his words.
More fully discussing my predicament, we decided it best to head over to the closest, and sole, farmhouse across the river. He knew the resident, he informed me. Rewrapping the oozing wounds brought further contact between my bare torso and his. Then, before I could say anything, the limber black man lightly hoisted me over his shoulder in a fast rotating lift. I felt my junk grazing his upper back as he waded down into the shoulder high water. The coldness of it shocked me but didn’t seem to faze the big guy at all. His uneven strides jostled me awkwardly as he sought solid footing over the couple minute portage. Way too much rubbing and joggling went on between my dick and his superb musculature.
By the time we reached the far bank, the cold water, combined with his firm grip, left my body in a quandary. Should my stimulated package shrivel or explode? Like espresso braces crème Brule, the result proved to be a bittersweet amalgam as the brisk, constricting effect gave way to a burst of uncontrollable engorgement. My balls retracted up inside me while a huge boner sprang up. It would have made me proud under circumstances not involving the persistent bouncing against Voy’s shoulder.
I was next startled to find myself twirled again in a half-gainer from his back to the ground. But the thoughtful man, not forgetting my sprained ankle, dexterously put out two very large, veined hands to cushion my landing. One supported my muscled white runner’s butt, the other caught the front side, covering and pinning a boned-up piece against my stomach. That damnably smooth shoulder buttressed my side and lower back.
The abrupt absence of motion rendered me to a state of rigid mortification and him to a grinning, grasping support group made up of a single body. “You good, Jake?” he joked, as his hands rubbed up and down my anatomy. Sizing up both my erection and retracted balls inside of one palm, my skewed running shorts provided precious little concealment. Along with his other hand on my buttcheeks, I could do nothing except blush at him stupidly. My typical ten shades of ‘Jake-pink’, as it had come to be known in the family. I was probably glowing like a blood moon.
Voy separated us by straightening up, now blatantly scrutinizing my disheveled self. Wild, mud-tousled hair jutted from the blood-soaked edges of a makeshift headband, wedged shorts twisted off my embarrassingly inflated, ball-shrunken junk. All of this, balancing awkwardly on one foot. “You keep in good shape, dude,” he offered. “By the feel o’ya,” teasing me with a wink.
My mental clarity wavered just then and I recognized a dizziness not felt before. The bad ankle disallowed my precarious stance and he darted a sinewy hand right between my legs to keep me from falling as he caught my teetering. While stopping a fall, this only stiffened the distressingly inappropriate response my sex organ so wrongly displayed.
If that wasn’t enough, as his hand steadied me, a middle finger strayed into my butt crack. The one-eyed betrayer surrendered, spouting a viscous rope of precum right on to Voy’s wrist. “Well, at least you ain’t bleedin’ from that, too,” the teasing continued. Such a diplomat, I thought, through a crimson haze. He hiked my arm up high over his shoulder, cupping my hip with his pre-cummed hand and we made our way up the path to the cottage mentioned before.
In a minute, we were at a small arched wooden door, Voy’s knuckles rapping heavily on it as he intoned, “T...T, wake on up, I got a patient out here needin’ some tendin’ to.”
After a few moments, we heard muffled shuffling from inside and the solid little door pulled open, revealing a sleepy-eyed young man wrapping a floral robe around himself, squinting through a stifled yawn as the porch light clicked on. The red hue of the sudden lighting cast an odd ambience over us three and I recognized TL, my youthful orderly from the free medical clinic where I volunteered.
Yup, it was, indeed, my recent after-hours ‘co-worker-in-crime’ gaping at me through his yawn. This man knew me better than I would’ve liked. “Well, I’ll be. What is up with this?” He glanced from me to Voy and back, not missing the blood-soaked bandage, the connected condition of our contrasting bodies nor my persistent, waggling, full-mast hard on. My eyes were definitely not down there, I ventured an unspoken cliché.
“Seems there be need of some early-morning triage...or something,” he quipped, now stepping aside to allow us entry, sweeping a petite hand backward as he beckoned us. The look we got was priceless.
If mortification had been present before, this turn of events sure notched things up on the scale of humiliation. My stuff continued its unabashed, way-too-happy jiggling as Voy practically hoisted me inside to a big armchair. Thankfully sitting now, I was noticing the light-headedness again. Probably associated with my injury, I analyzed. Laying back, the two men bustled to the adjoining kitchen. I closed my eyes amidst multi-levels of emotional chagrin, attempting to straighten the pitiful excuse passing for running shorts.
With TL’s coaxing, I drank a warm tea concoction which I was informed would take the edge off my pains. It did relax me, and quickly. Through the wooziness, I recognized ministrations of nursing and bandaging to my head wounds in the next foggy period of time. The ‘aid workers’ tended to wrapping my ankle as well, somehow mistaking my buoyant prick for the afflicted ankle several times.
I barely focused while I was lifted and moved to a more comfortably reclining position with the ankle elevated, in a different room. Their soft conversational tones were both efficient and subdued, Voy’s deep rumblings contrasting TL’s higher pitched sing-song tittering. I drifted off hazily, basking in much less discomfort…
…The haunting, melodic beat of the twins’ jungle-rap re-emerged, suffusing my being and I concentrated on the suggestive lyrics as I rested. They seemed so close as to be inside my head. I hearkened back to the starry night in the backyard during the baseball game when the twins and I had shared an animal magnetism fueled by magic gummy bears. Loy and Roy had taken turns fucking me nasty, right there under the stars. My man and his brother, Coy, the older twins, had watched the whole thing from the cover of the porch. Unbeknownst to me. Until we came, anyway.
They had produced multiple loads of cum between them, all three of us collapsing in a sticky mess afterward. I somehow knew we would repeat the hot episode and with the rhythmus in my brain now, it seemed the two had decided sooner rather than later would be good. Gladly accepting of their attentions that starry night, those pulsating dicks had slowly inflamed my prostate. I was loving the re-enactment now. My cock was presently rising and falling with the cadence of their strokes, ready for eruption any time but desiring to hold off longer to stretch out the pleasure.
The provocative drumbeat lamentably diminished as I gradually recognized the lewd activity for a fantasy delusion. The dream state receded. My awareness re-surfaced and with it awakened the reason for the persistence of the deliciously slow-paced deep fucking effect. My eyes flicked open from my lust-laden trance and I found myself focusing on the Chippendale-worthy form of, not Loy or Roy hitting my boy pussy, but big, married Voy, instead. Adultery abounded. His hands were grasping my calves, splitting my legs wide apart, carefully avoiding my securely wrapped ankle.
I was swaying with the deliberate dick thrusts in some sort of sling. He was watching my gauze-wrapped head and eyes as he prodded deeply with his jumbo-sized prick, feeding off my half-conscious cheerleading. Matching dream state to groggy reality, the measured ass pumping continued in a slowly methodical manner. The gentle behemoth made my erect dick rise and drop over my belly with each repeating push. Voy’s concern for any suffering was allayed by my rigidly see-sawing 8′s-plus, which he himself had engendered during the river crossing. He now maintained the effect by intermittent light finger-slapping, much to my delight.
Coming up from the mental depth of the dream proved a timely return to reality as I felt my dick tensing, on the very verge of putting out. My hands were nowhere close to it. I heard Voy encouraging me toward that end, telling me he was about to cum inside my impregnable ass, and, ’Oh, shit, that shit feel Good, boiii, that feel Jood!”
His head arched upwards like a wolf howling at the moon as he plunged into a massive explosion, flooding me with spermful gushes. Damn, married men fuck so good. That was all that came into my head as I followed suit, emptying squirts of juice over my own face, chest and stomach.
Big bare feet were planted far apart, pelvis thrust fully forward into mine, and those beautiful arms still restrained my quivering legs. This sixth and final linkage consummated me with the entire brotherhood of the Blackhearst family. My bleary, cum-splashed gaze watched Voy stop, freeze-framed, in an extended pause of ecstatic enjoyment before he finally recovered and descended from that silent howl. Licking full lips and focusing on my copiously splattered form.
I heard a chipper little voice from under the sling, “Goddam, Voy, that is gonna be one phyne fuck flick, baby.” Popping up from floor level, a now fully made-up TL arose, beaming in the flowing floral robe, assuring the married man that the angle of that fuck shot would be the best one yet. To be viewed on the occasion of their next plowing, he promised his black sancho. So much for TL’s imaginary girlfriend--- hadn’t I thought that once before? This diminutive man-girl was brazen, for sure true.
Oh, and it was a good thing Winnie was so hankerin’ for that fresh fish and licorice, what with her baby-making pole presently otherwise occupied...
Voy, lascivious grin lighting his face, glanced from the drag queen to me, “Torchy Lane loves her videos, now, my bra...” And with that, he unceremoniously yanked that big dick all outta my ass, spanking her right across the head with it. To her delight and my further stunned surprise.
Cal examined my head scrapes upon being delivered safely home in the next hour, kneading the hair apart tenderly as he heard the low-down about his younger twins’ budding nocturnal musical endeavours and wondered at the full morning’s happenings. “Hell, Jake, it isn’t half the morning gone yet and you done been hyped, scraped and raped...whatever we gonna think up to do for the rest o’ the day, my ever-ready dudeboii?”
Smiling sweetly up at him, I inquired if there were any brothers left who I had not yet met?
That got a hoot in reply.
