As I slowly regained consciousness, pleasant memories of the wide array of bushy beavers I had recently encountered filled my thoughts. Breathing in through my nose, I thought I detected faint traces of the various pussy perfumes I had sampled. Running my tongue along my teeth, I encountered a stray hair that had become lodged between two of my molars. As I tried to reach up and pry it free with my fingers, I was surprised to discover that I could no longer move my arms.
I opened my eyes to assess the situation and found myself strapped naked to a table of some sort. My arms and legs were spread and secured to the table by an intricate knot system. I struggled briefly to free myself to no avail. I was about to call out to someone to demand freedom when a voice to my right said, "Good. You're finally awake."
I turned my head to see Sandra, the young blonde student who had walked in on my interview with Becky the Brown -- or rather my interview with Becky the Brown's meaty gash that had been surrounded by a verdant growth of chestnut curls. Sandra was sitting at a console of some sort, and before I could speak she had flipped a switch and the room erupted into a heady mixture of disco lights and the throbbing drone of house music.
Sandra sauntered over to me, grasped my limp pecker in her hands and nodded. "I do so love to feel a man's tackle metamorphose from flaccid noodle to proper British Steel," she said in a clipped English accent.
As she lazily palpated my penis, three more young ladies danced seductively into the room. While Sandra was still dressed in her school uniform, the three newcomers were dressed quite differently. I found myself taken back to my youthful Junior High days when fluorescent "Madonna bracelets" were all the rage -- only in this instance it was the bobbed wigs and stylish bikinis of three girls that glowed with impossibly bright colors, responding no doubt to the black lights that were strewn across the room. The colors of Blue, Purple, and Green filled my vision as my cock began to throb in time with the bass of the music and Sandra's expert fondling.
Sandra then bent over my crotch, her long blonde hair cascading like a waterfall to cover me. Instead of taking me into her mouth as I had hoped, she instead dragged her hair slowly up my torso until we faced each other upside down in the private sanctuary created by her tresses. "Act natural. This is all being recorded and scrutinized by the entire Council."
"Council?" I asked.
"We'll run out of time if you keep interrupting with questions about what you don't understand. For now just stay quiet, stay focused, and try not to get over-stimulated. You need to learn to control your orgasms..., and to remain conscious after coitus."
Following her instruction, I focused my attention back on the glowing dancers. With seductively swaying hips they circled around me until the "Purple Girl" had positioned herself between my spread and bound legs. She then launched into a series of movements in which she divested herself of the top of her swim suit (revealing fluorescent purple pasties covering her nipples, of course), wrapped her bikini top around the pillar of my rock-hard erection, genuflected as if in worship to the altar of my cock, and bent forward to take holy communion by swallowing my plum-colored helmet and impishly swirling her tongue around my glans. This process was repeated by the two other mysterious beauties that sucked and swirled with the precision of a practiced ritual as Sandra nibbled my ear and spoke.