Several excuses floated up through the mental fog to help me rationalize why it had taken me almost ten seconds to look over in that direction; one, I was not expecting anyone to come into the room, which in a way was weird since I had no idea whose room we were in; two, I was busy enjoying and maintaining my rhythm of long slow strokes; and three, I was quite stoned, high, mellow, and drunk on alcohol, chemicals, weed, and sex.
As I looked over my shoulder towards the sound of the door and the three naked people approaching the bed in the large but dimly lit room, I happened to notice - thru a fog of sexual bliss enhanced by too much alcohol and more than a few tokes on the bongs and blunts being passed around earlier in the afternoon and evening - the clock on top of the chest of drawers is blinking the little colon, then switching the last digit from five to six - it is 11:56 PM.
That glimpse of the blinking colon of the clock has wormed it's way into my low level of consciousness enough to cause me to wonder if in four minutes, the warning about an erection lasting more than four hours is going to become a factor in whatever my next poor decision will be in a day filled with poor decision making. But then, in four minutes it will be a new day in which to make better poor decisions. The poor decisions made earlier today and this evening have led me to the very pleasurable situation I find myself in right now, so maybe those decisions were not all bad.
Obviously whatever mental processes there are that should have been guiding my actions into more mainstream socially acceptable paths today were getting baked long before I sat down next to Sylvia at the local dive bar. I had gone there to burden Bill, the bartender, with my tale of woe after telling my boss to take his job and shove it where the sun don't shine. My mind briefly wondered where Sylvia was now.
This party has been wild so far, and this is only the first evening of the four day adventure that Sylvia talked me into as we sat at the bar before noon today- or was that yesterday? I recall it was 8PM when our host looked at me banging a blonde on the sofa in front of the big tv displaying a live feed from the bedroom with a floor covered with mattresses which were being used by perhaps twenty naked people doing what naked people do on mattresses on the floor. Her left hand stroked my back, then patted and caressed my ass. She held out her right hand with the little blue pills - "Looks like you don't need this right now, but later on it may be helpful." I gladly accepted one, and washed it down with the last of the Knob Creek in my tumbler sitting on the table beside the sofa.
I'm balls deep in someone - doggie style, and have no clue as to how long we've been here, or where we were before becoming engaged in our current activity. I also have no clue as to why I'm not bothered that I don't know her name or what her face looks like. I'm holding onto her perfect-width hips, and occasionally slapping her tight and beautifully formed, muscular ass cheeks, while admiring a series of interconnected tattoos from the nape of her neck, along her spine, then splitting to cross the tops of her hips, then forward onto the anterior portions of the finely sculpted and fit human female form into which I'm thrusting. Her soft moans, and louder exultations of More! Harder! indicate to me that she is enjoying our activity as much as I am.
I dimly recall, before assuming our current positions, seeing - after I tongued, nibbled, and kissed every inch of the ink from her neck, down her spine, then across her lower back, following the vine around her hips as it followed the line of her external abdominal obliques, which, when as well formed and sculpted as in the person in front of and beneath me, were to my way of thinking, intelligently and wisely designed to lead eyes and hands to a promised land now out of sight but not out of reach of my exploring hands - a destination topped by a narrow landing strip of soft Titian hair just above the pussy in which I was now fully embedded.
I don't know if the tattoos continue down her legs - I got distracted and delayed earlier when my tongue demanded time to become acquainted with certain anatomical features in the area to which the vines and muscles had led me, and my fingers decided they needed and deserved some tactile exploration of the soft lengths and curls of that trimmed and shaped naturally reddish landing strip. She had - before, during, and after said exploration - by words, moans, and actions heartily approved and encouraged those distractions, explorations, and diversions. I do know I need to find an opportunity at some point in the next few days to further explore and navigate the full path of those vines.
As my eyes and attention return to the current task at hand, I notice the hair on the left side of her head is purple and the other half is green with some white streaks.
I don't know why I had not noticed the Tri-colored hair before. I do know I was beginning to actually think about and remember some of the events of the day and the evening, after what must have been hours of simply floating along the stream of carnal activities in the house. Maybe some of whatever chemicals I had in my system were wearing off and my mental functions were returning. Based on my current activity, and snippets of memories of other similar encounters since arriving here, my physical functions have been operating at a high level of proficiency for hours.
I again wondered if thinking about the four hours warning was gong to cause problems with continuing those physical activities. The higher order, more developed portions of my brain told me it was wise to wonder and think and make a plan of what to do. The lower prehistoric portions of my brain thought a plan to obtain another blue pill, just in case was the way to go. My condom encased dick throbbed, as if to remind my mentally-awakening brain to also pay attention to, - and get those newly realized mental functions participating in - the important physical activities.
