The Book of Masks (Vol. 1)

Making Someone's Dream Come True

Previously: "The Run for Home" 

You return Yumi's smirk with a gaping stare of your own. In the all the fight and drama of getting out here and getting into this bedroom, you'd clean forgot how you were starting to grope your friend back at the complex. All the desire has drained from you.

But as you look Yumi over, as she leans back on the bed with her legs spread wide; as she gives you a hooded smirk down the length of her nose; well, that desire starts to swell within you again. This girl, she's your friend, she's Yumi Saito. But she's also your friend Keith Tilley, who you helped to steal this body. Yes, it would be a little weird making out with one of your friends. But that's part of what gives it hard thrill. You've both fantasized about these girls, and you've helped each other into copies of their bodies. You are Cindy and Yumi now, and you'd be making out as them.

You lean toward her, then pause to gauge her reaction: the gleam in her eye deepens a touch. You take a step forward, and another, and she leans back to peer up at you. Your knees touch.

You can't help quailing just a little. Yumi, you can tell, is trying to look smoky and seductive, but with her mouth hanging limply open, and her eyes almost invisible behind her hooded lids, mostly she looks stoned. It doesn't help that you can hear the gurgle of her breath in her nose and the back of her throat.

Oh, what the fuck, you think. Once we just get started—

Again, you flinch, at a flashback to times Cindy had a hard time getting started with Seth because he was looking a little gross. But you thrust the memory behind you, and bend over Yumi to put your mouth to hers.

"Mmphgh, mmphgh!" She slurps hungrily at your mouth, and her hand grabs your left tit like a claw.

"Jesus!" You wrench yourself free, and touch your lip with a fingertip to see if there's blood. "Fuck, dude! What are you trying to do, shove a chest-burster down my throat?"

She falls back onto the bed with a moan. "But you're making me so horny!" Her legs fall apart, and she strokes and grabs at her pussy through the front of her shorts. "You know how much I want to—?" She freezes, and her eyes roll. "Oh, fuck me," she groans, and resumes grinding at herself. "I want my cock back! Oh, God!" Her face twists up as she humps at the air. "I want my—! Cock! Back! Push it—! Out through—! From inside—! Fuck myself—! Fuck Yumi—! From inside—!"

It's like she's having a fit, an episode. You jump forward to cover and grip her hands with. She lifts her head to stare at you with flushed and perspiring face.

"Shh! Will you calm down? We don't want anyone coming up and finding us like—! Listen," you hiss, "you wanna make out, we'll make out. I want to too, you know." You glance up at the door, to check that it is in fact locked. "But you're gonna have to let me set the pace, man. I don't wanna get hurt, get any cuts or bruises. So let me—"

She snorts.

"—set the pace. You don't know what you're doing. And keep it down." You push her hands from her crotch. "And since you're feeling so hot and buzzy down here, I guess that's where we'll start." You hook a finger into the top of her flannel shorts, and pull. When she stays frozen to the bed, you frown at her until she starts to wriggle from them.

* * * * *

You're kneeling on the bed, on your knees and elbows, clasping Yumi by the thighs, with your face and mouth pressed deep into her hot, wet, bristly genitals. Her feet twist and kick, brushing your elbows, and every once in awhile she knocks you on the side of the head with a knee. Her hips grind and twist and thrust upward from the mattress.

She's sweat and loamy and briny on your tongue and in your mouth, and every few moments there fleets through your head, I'm gonna have to gargle for hours to get the taste out. But you can't stop yourself, and when you do lift your face it's only for the briefest second to catch a deep breath before plunging back in. You burn to nuzzle deeper and deeper, to shove your tongue in harder and faster, to find and touch and tickle with your mouth the very furthest back wall of the crevices of Yumi Saito. You dig your nails deeper into the yielding flesh of her hips and thighs.

She's got a pillow over her face, she's got it shoved into her mouth and she's biting on it hard, gripping it with talon-like hands. Still, every few seconds, a tiny muffled scream escapes her, sounding like the scrape and scream of metal hinges. It worries you that someone will hear her, or will hear the occasional rhythmic creak from the bedsprings, and come looking to see what you're doing. (Or simply that they will deduce it without having to come check.) It worries you too that you apparently haven't brought her to climax, and you worry what kind of volcanic roar she will loose when you do.

And you also worry—though it's absurd and you know it can't happen—that Keith Tilley's giant dong will pop out of Yumi's pussy, ram its way down your throat, and impale itself in the back of your throat.

It's a tough image to get out of your head, what with the flashbacks you keep getting to all the times that Cindy went down on Seth Javits. That's another reason you keep pushing yourself harder and deeper into Yumi. It's not only the desire to scrape off and lap up all her softest tissues. It's the desire to crush and drown those memories under the humid weight of the present.

At last, even as you're flagging, Yumi looses one long, bone-deep groan into the pillow, seems to gather all her strength in a concentrated point under your lips, and explodes upward, jarring you in the chin and nose as she frantically humps your face. Her thighs clamp closed and grip your head like a vise, and she grabs the back of your head with a claw-like hand to push your face deeper into herself. She squeaks no more, she's beyond that, but snuffles and pants into the pillow like she's trying to inhale it. It seems to take hours for her to expend herself, but at last with a soft groan she relaxes all over. She releases your head, her thighs fall away, and she goes limp and boneless all over.

With creaking neck and limbs, you push yourself upright and look down at her. Her shorts and panties, of course, are gone, exposing her black and wiry bush, and all the rest of her sweaty mid-parts between knees and navel. Her shirt is pushed up under her neck, and one cup of her bra is pushed up as well, exposing a brown-tipped breast. You push the pillow off her face. Her eyes are unfocused and her mouth hangs open. A long, gooey stream of drool winds from the corner of her mouth down the side of her neck and into a pool just under her ear. She would look dead, save for the flicker of life in her eyes.

"Okay, wake up." You slap the side of her thigh. "You can't pass out."

"Euuugggghhhhhh," she replies.

"I'll go downstairs and get us something to drink. I want you back in your panties, at least, when I get back."

"Euuuuckkkhhhh?"

"Yes, panties. And pull your shirt down."

"Euuuugphhhh!"

"I'm serious, no arguing."

"Yeeuuurmgph?" Her mouth twists up into a leering half-smile.

"Yes, it was fun for me too."

"Urmph?!"

"I think you're too wiped out. Maybe tomorrow night."

"Mmmphgh-eughchkkkk!" She turns to the side, nestles down more firmly onto the bed, and closes her eyes.

"Get back into your clothes, man!" You smack her again on the side of the thigh, and she flinches. "Now!"

She sighs, and pushes herself upright onto an elbow. Her eyes briefly cross and uncross, and she limply clutches at her disordered bra.

When you're sure she's going to finish the job, you check your face in the vanity mirror for signs of what you've been doing. You are momentarily startled by the sight of Cindy's doe-eyed face staring back at you, but you settle yourself to check for damage. Your mouth is a little flushed, and the gloss on your lips has faded and cracked. You repair it, then with a big plastic comb settle and reorder long, platinum tresses that have gone a little stringy. When you look good enough—which is more than good enough, when you've got Cindy Vredenburg's face—you straighten up and turn back to the bed.

Yumi is sitting up and pulling down her shirt, and she gives you a hooded, exhausted, and dirty look.

Funny, you think as you stride into the hall and down the stairs on confident, scissor-like legs. I just went down on one of my best friends. Never did that before, never had a chance or the urge. I wonder if it'll change things between us?

You pause. You know it won't change things between Cindy and Yumi, because those girls are gone and you've replaced them. But will it change things between you and Keith?

You're interrupted in mid-thought by the sound of your name. It's Lucy, looking up at you from the sofa. "You need me to give you a ride to school in the morning?" she asks in a resentful tone. "Or you gonna get one from Seth?"

Next: "Two More Rides" 

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"Table of Contents (Vol. 1)" 
"The Book of Masks (Vol. 1)"