Stick Shift: Nocturnal Writhings

My pace matched the underground, ethno-brother 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.

Def-nit a freak t'keep---in ya'back pocket...

fo' dat---late...night...creep..."

Don'be usin' those finga's, or I be makin'a fist..."

The raunchy, alluring, lyrical patterns were keeping me mentally hovering a few inches off the ground as I pounded lightly over the dirt path through the glade of woods which marked one of my running routes. The first path I had mapped out upon our arrival this summer at my in-laws 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 often miss things, good observation being a necessity, and it gets 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 of last night crowding my mind, tantalizing the memory. I had stopped by my younger twin-in-laws' modest home then. The screen door had been closed 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 lair. Peering around that doorway, I had found the boys absorbed in a duet, a private performance of mind-bending seductiveness. Amidst their music-making, both were unclothed and in a mutual state of arousal.

The convoluted melody 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 tune 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. With only swollen dicks touching, then brushing, their arms and legs, heads and torsos, intertwined and writhed together--then separately--then together again. A dance of amazingly synced quality in the light of flittering candles. Their performance had enveloped me in a pin-prickling, whole body shiver by the visual. 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 male-eroticos only had mind's eyes for their strongly libidinous choreography and synergized lyrics. The combined totality cocooned the two in a shared place only they knew. No one else was invited. Not sexual, yet entirely sexual. Their motions made 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 tiny pocket into which I had had but a brief glimpse was something special that only twins share. Just like the discreet dialect of which we, their family, were aware but not made privy, I had now stumbled onto this...this mind-blowing communal jive dialect. My senses had told 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 bounce.off.d'doors.

Trigga finga' itchin', trigga finga' itchin'...trigga' fixin'at itch...nic...nic...nic..."

Cal and Coy, the older twins, had an awesome rapport as Cal had shown me. But nothing close to these younger boys. This performance demo'd that. It was not meant for anyone but themselves. Li'l Bow Wow would be proud to call it his. And hard. I was smitten and couldn't let go.

Reluctantly, pulling myself silently away, I had left the pair to their private devices...forgetting completely why I had stopped in. I sure won't forget what I had happened upon.

Afterwards, upon arriving home, I had crept into bed next to my 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 sphere 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.

But, I never left that ephemeral creation of Loy's and Roy's just barely 'touched' awhile before. As my man spread me open, entering me and making me whole, I vicariously experienced the young twins' certain culminative punctuation by combined 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 sensurround sounds, and fears, and longings. Perceiving some Haitian voodoo ritual acting out in a remote, smoky clearing. I could see and feel vestiges of the boys and the vibe they had unwittingly shared, but could only hoard the emanations, never reaching 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. Ducking and rolling, instinctively, I sumersaulted away from the attack, shanking my ankle in the action. The huge set of wings flapped over and then upward, opposite me.

Hal, the great horned owl, I quickly deduced, had just mistaken my head for an early morning snack. The hand-sized claws had raked me and 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 hunter upon first hearing him hoot. The nocturnal hunter had replied in inquisitive puzzlement and a mutual interest ensued. The hunter appeared to be awaiting my pre-dawn appearances after that, commonly following as I signaled my routes via hoots and trackable footbeats...

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 staunch the bleeding by headbanding, I gimped my way toward the riverside. Knowing it to be close by I desired orientation and 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 leeside 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 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 as a familiar, non-threatening form.

Dawn still an hour distant, we compared notes and I figured out Cal's brother was setting out troutlines 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 shading 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, and before I could say anything, he rewrapped my oozing wounds, further contacting my mostly bare torso with his own. Then 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 chest high water. The coldness of it shocked me but didn't seem to phase the big guy at all. His unsure strides jostled me repeatedly as he searched solid footing over the several minute portage.

By the time we reached the far bank, the cold water, combined with his firm grip, left my body in a quandry. Should my stimulated package shrivel or explode? Like espresso braces creme brulee, the answer proved to be a bittersweet amalgam as the initial miniaturizing effect gave way to a burst of uncontrollable engorgement. My balls retracted inside me and a huge boner sprang up. It would have made me proud under circumstances not involving the persistent bouncing against Voy's shoulder.

I was startled to find myself twirled again in a half-gainer from his back to the ground. Way too much rubbing and jolting had gone on between my dick and his superb musculature. But the thoughtful man, not forgetting my sprained ankle, dexterously put out two very large, veined hands to cushion my landing. One supporting my muscled white butt, the other catching the frontside, covering and pinning my boned-up piece against my stomach. That damnably smooth shoulder buttressed my side and lower back.

Our 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. With him sizing up both my erection and retracted balls inside of one palm, my skewed running shorts were doing precious little to cover me. Along with his other hand on my backside, I could do nothing except grin stupidly, blushing at him. 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 and blatantly scanned my disheveled form. Mud-tousled hair jutting from the blood-soaked edges around my makeshift headband, wedged shorts twisted far from my distended, ball-less junk and 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 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 embarrassingly innappropriate response my sex organ so wrongly displayed.

If that wasn't enough, as his hand steadied me, middle finger astray in my buttcrack, the one-eyed betrayer spouted a viscous rope of pre-cum right on to Voy's wrist. "Well, at least you ain't bleedin from that, too," the teasing continued. Such the gentleman, I thought, through a crimson haze. He lifted 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 he had mentioned before.

In a minute, we were at a small arched cypress wood 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 porchlight 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 cliche. "Seems there be need of some early-morning triage...or something," he quipped, now stepping aside to allow us entry, sweeping a petite hand backwards as he beckoned us. The look we got was priceless.

If my 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, and I closed my eyes in multi-levels of emotional chagrin, attempting to straighten the pitiful excuse passing for running shorts.

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... 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.

I barely focused while I was lifted and moved to a more comfortably reclining position with 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 titterings. I drifted off hazily, basking in much less discomfort.

The re-emergence of the haunting beat and melody of the twins' jungle-rap suffused 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 mj-laced 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.

We had produced multiple loads of cum between us, all three collapsing in a sticky mess afterwards...I somehow knew we would repeat the hot episode and with the rhythmus in my brain now, it seemed the two had decided sooner than later would be good. I was gladly accepting of their attentions, pulsating dicks slowly inflaming my prostate and I moaned in the blissful stimulation. I could feel my own cock tensing and rising to their cadence of strokes, ready to erupt any time but desiring to hold off longer to stretch out the feeling. The provocative beat disappointingly diminished as I gradually realized the lewd activity as dreamful pursuits.

As the drumbeats receded with my fantasy delusion, my awareness surfaced and I awakened to the reason for it. The pace of slow, deep fucking persisted, but without the music or lyrics.

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 his deliberate dick thrusts in some sort of sling and he was watching my gauze-wrapped head and eyes as he prodded deeply with his jumbo-sized prick, feeding off my half-conscious cheerleading.

Measuredly pumping ass in a slowly methodical manner, the gentle behemoth made my erect dick rise and drop over my belly with each repeating entry. Voy's concern for any suffering was allayed by my see-sawing 8's-plus, which he himself had engendered. And perpetuated. Lightly finger-slapping it periodically for effect.

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 Jood, boiii, that feel Jood!"

His head bent upwards like a wolf howling at the moon as he plunged into a massive eruption, flooding me with spermful gushes. Damn, married men fuck so good, was all that came into my head as I followed suit, emptying squirts of juice over my own face, chest and stomach.

His feet planted far apart, pelvis thrust forward into mine, beautiful arms still restraining my quivering legs, this sixth and final linkage consummated me with the entire brotherhood of the Blackhearst family. My bleary, cum bespeckled gaze watched Voy descend from his silent howl and I heard a chipper little voice from under the fuck-sling, "Goddam, Voy, that is gonna be one phine fuck flick, baby."

Popping up from floor level, a now fully made-up TL arose, smirking 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 said that once before? The man-girl was brazen, for sure true.

Oh, and it was good thing Winnie was so hankerin' for that fresh fish and licorice-- her baby-making pole was presently otherwise occupied...

Voy, lascivious grin lighting his face, glanced from the drag queen to me, "Torchy Lane loves her videos, now, my bro..." And with that, he yanked that big dick 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 skills 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.

 

 

zackjack

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