The Wizard of North America
wright! Gather 'round you pretty, fleshy cornucopias of Earthly erotic delight! My pulsating organ o' pleasure needs a bit of rest, so I was thinking I would tantalize and tease your wicked brains with a little story. Whaddaya say? So come on. . . . Yeah, that's it, my fabulous flower, rest your pretty head on my thigh. . . . Ooh, I love the way your hair-- Anyway, gather 'round. . . . Listen! Direct your luscious little ears--which are so delicious to nibble and bite--direct your luscious little ears this way! Close your big bad beautiful eyes--those eyes that know so well how to communicate the profoundly lustful desires of your unbridled ids! Let your egos rest. Let your mouths suck whatever ripe mound of flesh is closest to you and let my words sink into your unconscious, subconscious, metaconscious minds! Open your minds to the multicolor metadimensional images that will flash through your pleasure-saturated group-consciousness as this story unfolds from my sensual mouth that has kissed every bit of every one of your willing fleshy bodies of carnal indulgence! Are you ready, my succulent sexpods? Are you comfy with your lickable kissable delectable limbs sprawled on the radiant green glowing rocks of my groovy Grove of Green Glowing Rocks? Awright, now: listen. . . .
There was this far-out gigantic--and I mean huge, so huge that, next to it, our own fantastically giant gas giant Jupiter would seem like the puny little moon that orbits our own Earthly paradise--so, yeah, this far-out gigantic planet filled with people who looked just like us except they dressed in really ugly uniform-like clothes that would seem like utopia fashion to a nerdy repressed wimpy fascist who knows he's never ever gonna get any, unless he, like, pays for it or stumbles across a corpse or something.
So, wouldn't ya know it, these people called their humongoid planet, not Giganton or Humongofest or Reallyreallybigworld or Megaplace or anything fun like that, no, no, they were no more original than any other land-dwelling sentients, whether repressed or sensual, all over the universe. . . you guessed it, my lovelies, they called their humongous world Earth, the same name we gave to our own medium-sized globe of natural delights. Boring! Of course in their own language "earth" is this ugly mouthful starting with a K sound, so I'm just gonna call their planet "K," awright?
So, anyway, on planet K people were, like, heavy believers in that old-time science religion. So, yeah, you know what that means! Machines, machines, machines, and more machines, and just more machines! And you can believe these science-brainwashed people were so afraid to let loose their repressed id-damaged bodies which cried out for sensual release that for sure they even used machines during their pitiful little unsensual sexual activities. Cameras, projectors, speakers, vibrators, voice distorters, televisions, artificial inseminators, telephones, image inducers. . . anything to distance sex from its immediate sensual aspect, anything to push that experience far, far down, to pervert it, to deny its self-shattering, id-liberating, body-sharing, ego-merging, holy-communing ecstatic beauty.
Can you see this place in your collective mind's eye, in your unbound inner imaginations? See it! Imagine it! Let the pictures come to you! Tall, shiny spires of cold metal. Unbreathable air. Undrinkable water. Diseased flora. Deformed fauna. Monstrous pumps, shovels, and other engines of extraction hollowing K of its resources and life energy! Humorless, repressed scientists--whose idea of sensuality is tying someone up, shouting abuse at them, and then using their loveless dicks to pump hate into bodies they could never know how to love--watching over all of this, pleased by what they call mastery over their world, pleased by their complete lack of compassion. See K raped, denied love and compassion.
Well K decided it just wasn't gonna take it anymore. Sometimes when the tough get too tough there's only one way out.
One of the science high priests, let's call him J, noticed that something was up. Don't get the idea that he was any better than any of the others--he wasn't. He couldn't even begin to imagine the cause of his findings. He was blinded by his religion. But--damn!--he didn't wanna die. And he didn't want his beautiful wife to die, or his newborn son. So off he went to the place where all the heavy-duty, high-power science types hung out and he said: "The planet's gonna explode! We gotta save our asses! Let's pack everybody into these giant space arks I designed and get outta here before the planetary shit hits the fan!" Well, okay, J didn't use those exact words, but, hey, that's what he meant, I'm just making him sound more interesting.
Now, these other guys were in a conundrum. None of them had found out that anything catastrophic was gonna happen to their colossal planet, and they didn't want this upstart to think he could get more powerful by upstaging every one of them with an important discovery that could save everybody on the planet. If he was right, and they built these space arks of his, they'd look like morons for not figuring it out first, and he'd become head honcho. If he was wrong, and, let's face it, they all thought he was just some psycho, then they'd all look like morons for backing him up. So they did what they always did when someone came to them with an idea they didn't like. They laughed him out of their little power circle and made all kinds of public announcements that proclaimed he was a loony who should be locked up.
J's wife was watching TV, and some news bit came on saying that J was a dangerous crazy jerk, and, when she told hubby, he figured they were probably gonna come and get him and lock him up real soon.
Now, J had built a little prototype space ark to run some tests. It was big enough to hold his wife and the kid. So he looked at his wife and said: "Okay, babe, there's no time left! No-one's gonna get hip to my tune and they're bound to put me in a straightjacket any time now; hell, they're probably on their way now. So here's what we're gonna do. I'm gonna stick you and the baby in the prototype and send you off inta space. Hopefully you'll land somewhere nice, with indoor plumbing." Science-type people can get so obsessed over indoor plumbing.
Well, that didn't sit well with the wife. "Oh, yeah? How do I know this whole apocalypse bit isn't just a ploy to get me outta the way 'cause you wanna boink some young lab assistant with perky tits?" Ya know the weird thing about those science-types is that, despite their messed up sex lives, they were so damned preoccupied with boinking. They paired up in these really constraining two-people gender-opposite nuclear relationships--meaning they were set to explode at any moment--and spent most of their time suspicious that their mate was gonna go off and boink someone else--despite the fact that no-one practically ever had sex at all! Once a day! Sometimes less! Can you imagine?
"Honey, darling! What are you saying? I've been expelled from the science guys social club! Everybody thinks I'm a lunatic! Would I do all of that just for some young piece of ass?" The wife thought about it a bit and said, "I don't see why not! Men! You'd do anything to get blown by some pretty young thing!" J was getting really annoyed; after all, the planet was on the verge of exploding, and, in all likelihood, some muscle from the loony-bin was on its way to gift-wrap him in a straightjacket. He wanted to do the heroic thing and save his wife and kid, and here she was accusing him of manufacturing all this just to get some action on the side. "Lovey-poo, listen to me! You have to-" "Have to nothing, I'm not letting you outta my sight." And, remember, sweethearts, they called this love.
J ran out of the room and into the baby's bedroom--yeah, that's right "baby's bedroom." These science-types were so afraid of life and sensuality that after they had kids--little babies who needed constant sensual stimulation to make them feel welcome in the big world outside the safe, warm womb--that they isolated them in cribs and let them cry their little hearts out in terror-filled loneliness. They never pressed their babies' naked little bodies against their big warm skins. They gave them hesitating little pecky kisses instead of the big gooey wet slobbering full-mouth kisses their newborn skins were crying out for. Anyway, I'm losing track of my tale here.
So, yeah, J got the kid. The dog--yeah, K people kept dogs; I guess some part of those science-types was crying out for some kind of transcendence--he got all excited at seeing J run around so fast, so he followed him. The wife, not wanting to be left out, joined the rest of the gang.
"Whaddaya think you're doing with my baby?" The wife screamed at J.
"Honeybunny, I don't care what you think! I have to save him. This place is gonna blow, baby. Ya have ta believe me!" While J was talking to his wife, he was stuffing the kid into the rocket. "Listen, cutie-pie, this rocket's too small for me. You have to go with the kid to keep him safe and take care of him." "A likely story, you philanderer! Get my baby outta that contraption!" The doorbell rang. "We have to hurry. They're here! They're gonna take me away!" "Yeah, well, that's fine with me. Anything to keep you away from those husband-stealing lab-assistant tramps!" She went to get the door. Taking advantage of this respite, he coaxed the dog into the small rocket. Hell, this dog would do anything to defend the kid. He closed all the hatches, turned on the cryogenic life-support--'cause, hey, it could be a long, long, time before the ship landed anywhere--and pressed the lift-off button sending his kid and dog out into outer space just as three mean-looking bruisers dressed in white uniforms ran into the room waving a straightjacket at him.
As soon as the kid--let's call him S--and the dog--let's call him O--started their sightseeing tour of the stars, the humongous K did indeed blow up, exactly like J had predicted. S and O were the only survivors, apart from the hordes of criminals and political radicals banished by law to another dimension, and some city shrunk, captured, and bottled up by an alien maniac computer on two legs, and this other city-- Anyway, what matters is that the kid's parents died in the big whammo planetary explosion, so he was basically all alone--except for his dog, of course. But, as great as dogs are, they don't offer much in terms of human interaction.
So this rocketship is travelling along with no specific destination, warping time and space this way and that, passing through radiation belts, cosmic rays, and all kinds of outtasight outer-space phenomena. All this weird exposure did things to the rocketship's passengers. It changed them in ways that science-types would sneer at. Because, hey, according to them it would be impossible. But the fact remains, luscious hearts, that S and O changed and became something other than your run-of-the-mill boy and his dog.
And yes! You know it. I know it. My fabulous darlings, the rocketship landed here, on our very own lovely sensually saturated Earth, and not only that, my sexies, the vessel landed right here on our very own North American continent. And what a landing it was! It came crashing down at tremendous speed, like a huge ball of fire and lightning, sparkling like a box of firecrackers in heat and landed right on top of the Mother Goddess of the East Coast while she was meditating. Actually, it landed on the hunk boinking her while she was meditating. He was crushed and incinerated, nothing left, zippo, all gone. Good old Mother Goddess of the East Coast, though, was made of sterner stuff. Her legs were severed from the rest of her body and thrown away from the wreckage before the flames caught up to them. All that was left of her was her luscious ever-spreadable legs and the sexy red boots she'd loved to strut around in.
Wonder-babes, sweet-stuffs, she's one to remember, our late, great Mother Goddess of the East Coast. She couldn't go anywhere without leaving an orgy in her wake. She was an inspiration for Mother Goddesses everywhere. Her flaming red hair matched perfectly those sexy boots that she really knew how to walk in. Killer red lips, ooh, soft inner thighs that sent any and every lover into fits of ecstatic purring, and hands that instinctually knew how to please every body they squeezed and caressed. The memory of her lascivious ways burns deeply still in my inner erotic phantasmagorical fantasies.
It just so happened that, at the exact time S and O's rocketship imposed fatal coitus interruptus on the Mother Goddess of the East Coast, her good friend and soul-sister the Mother Goddess of the Great White North was visiting the area and sampling some of the local action. When she heard the sensationally loud explosion, a couple of sweet young things, twin brother and sister, were lapping up the pungent juices running from between her legs. For a moment she thought the sound was the manifestation of an orgasm of unparalleled magnitude, until she realized that she hadn't come yet.
She let the twins lap her up until she screamed in delicious delight and then figured she might as well go see what all that noise had been about, as much as she would have loved to continue to enjoy the twin flesh that was wiggling against her curvaceous bod. There was a weird kinda burning smell in the air, so she figured her sexy shapely nose might be able to lead her to the source of the earlier shockingly loud sonic commotion.
The first thing that grabbed her attention was one of the late, great Mother Goddess of the East Coast's severed legs. She recognized it 'cause of the stylish red boot, of course.
Then she heard this super-loud dog growl coming from the sky. She looked up and saw a flying white dog and a flying baby playing tug o' war with a large red blanket. Suddenly the baby lost interest and decided to take a whiz, of course it wouldn't be a good story if the baby piss hadn't hit our lusty Mother Goddess of the Great White North. So it did. The dog, seeing a good chance to mark territory, flew right over the Mother Goddess and lifted his leg to spray her but good.
Of course, sweeties, this would be the previously mentioned S and O. I did say they'd been transformed, didn't I? So there you have it.
So, anyway, seeing his dog peeing on our very own Mother Goddess of the Great White North sent baby S spinning in fits of anti-gravity hilarity. He was giggling his sweet little eyes to tears. He flew down and grabbed the Mother Goddess of the Great White North with his tiny but not puny hands. He picked her up and dropped her in the closest body of water, which turned out to be some lake or other.
"Me wash nekkid lady!" shouted the little tyke. Yeah, he could speak the language, not well, but he could speak it. His mind and body had gone through meta-mutations galore and he was, like, the ultimate incarnation of power. The dog couldn't speak 'cause he didn't have any vocal cords, but he could understand anything anyone anywhere said to him. Cuddly-sweeties, these two could hear and understand anything, anyone, anywhere, anytime 'cause not only were their minds, like, able to process information faster than any living being or electronic mind, but their senses and muscles were pumped up to overmax. They could hear spit fall on the ground clear 'round the globe--and that, my fabulous fornicating follies, is the truth.
And if you'll pardon a little digression here, my beauties, the beautifully erotic Mother Goddess of the Great White North was not naked. She was wearing, as she always did, a sensuous white scarf that caught in the wind and blended mysteriously with her stark white hair. She was a babe, she was, the Mother Goddess of the Great White North.
She swam to shore, to find that S had tied his big red comfort blanket around his neck, and it hung about him like some kinda freaky cape. He was playing fetch with his dog. Of course, you guessed it, my sweet darlings, they were playing fetch with one of the deceased Mother Goddess of the East Coast's red-booted legs.
Well, it didn't take long for O to get all revved up by the smell of dead flesh. After a couple of throws, he kept the leg and devoured the whole thing in, like, less than a second. He spewed the boot out, though. It looked a bit worse for the experience. He frantically sniffed the air and found the other leg and ate it just as ravenously as he had its twin. He spewed out the boot again.
The boots were the same color as S's blanket, so they caught the tyke's mischievous eye. He put them on. They were a bit too big--just a bit 'cause the delectably delicious Mother Goddess of the East Coast had been a petite babe with, yes, a bountiful big ass, but little teeny weeny little feet.
Anyway, so young S was none too happy that the boots didn't fit. He stared at them angrily, shouting, "Bad booties! You fit on feet!" Red-hot beams shot from his eyes and, I kid you not my sexy sexpods, melted the boots around his feet. Then, from his incredibly charged-up powerful lungs, he blew a gust of super-cold air straight at them, and they froze, molded to the shape of his feet.
The Mother Goddess of the Great White North was one helluva smart babe, my delicious cuties, and she was sure that all of this was somehow connected to the noise that had roused her from her carnal contemplation. She figured she might as well let her cute nose lead her to the source of these weird happenings, before taking any undue risks approaching the powerful pair who had, for all she knew, just killed and dismembered her beloved soul-sister the Mother Goddess of the East Coast.
Things had been happening pretty fast, so the Mother Goddess of the Great White North had yet to really take full stock of the situation. But she was applying her beautifully sensual mind to the problem at hand. Well, when she looked in the direction the burning smell was coming from, she noticed with her wonderfully wide sexy eyes that smoke was rising up into the air from somewhere in that very direction. She rushed to the spot and saw the wreck of the spacecraft. She quickly concluded that the flying duo had emerged from the totalled vessel, which, she correctly guessed (with her brilliant and sensual mind aroused and stimulated by a lifetime of sexual indulgence) had come from some faraway outer-space planet.
She was standing over the wreckage trying to figure out what to do next, when she heard a familiar voice.
"Hey, Whitey! Wassup? I was, like, back home frolicking in rotting leaves with a trio of well-hung studs when I, like, felt this really yucky psychic disturbance shit. And then I, like, automatically reached out to feel the minds of all my supremely sexy soul-sisters, but I couldn't, like, get in touch with Red. I, like, tried and tried, but no matter how, like, hard, I, like, looked and, y'know, probed, there was just, like, no trace of her. I would've gotten here, like, sooner, but I was kinda like swept up in the urgency of the moment, y'know? Anyway, so after we were all done, I, like, y'know, merged with the green and let it lead me to where the trouble was."
Ooh. . . My precious pretties! The lushly inviting green-painted lips that pronounced those words belonged to the Mother Goddess of the West Coast. And what a Mother Goddess she was! Every luscious morsel of her ever-naked body just screamed to be kissed, licked, bit, and rubbed every which way. 'Cause of her link with the green of the Earth, the Mother Goddess of the West Coast had this thing for that beautiful color. Not only were her lips painted green, but so were her toenails and fingernails and she dyed her hair and pubes green. She was guaranteed to make your mouth salivate with yearnful lust! Indeed!
"Sister," said the beautifully bodied Mother Goddess of the Great White North, "if I read the signs right this spaceship landed on our local sister and killed her dead."
"Ooh, like, how gross," pouted the Mother Goddess of the West Coast.
"But that's not the worst of it, Greenie. There was a baby boy and his dog aboard this spaceship."
"Ooh. . . .Did the poor dears, like, get hurt, too?"
"Greenie, they're not poor dears. They're out-of-control monsters."
"Like, that's just nonsense. I'm sure the little cuties are just, like, y'know, scared and lonely."
"Greenie, you don't know what you're talking about. You haven't met them. I have. Scared and lonely, my ass!"
Ah. . . her ass. . . my festive gorgeous darlings. . . I so delighted in sinking my face whenever I could into the ass of the Mother Goddess of the Great White North. I could spend hours smelling her intoxicatingly sexy odors, pressing her abundant soft folds of flesh against my tingling lips. But, hey, I'm losing track of the story again.
"Okay, Whitey, like, okay. I, like, believe you. Okay? But, like, where are they now?" asked the still-pouting Mother Goddess of the West Coast. That pout! Ooh! An irresistible call to press your moist bits against her green lips, that's what it was, it sure was.
"I don't know. But we have to find them and think of something before they cause too much damage."
"Damage? What kind of damage can, like, a little baby and a cute doggie do?"
Does that sound like a cue to you, my lustful lovelies? It sure does to me. So, of course, right at that moment, a giant maple tree whizzed by at tremendous speed right over the heads of our conferring voluptuous Mother Goddesses.
The sexy pair stared at the massive missile. They were transfixed, their mesmerizing eyes mesmerized by this strange outtasight sight. Suddenly the tree shattered in a gazillion pieces. O--that's the dog, you remember--had collided with it trying, impossibly, to fit the humongoid stick into his mouth.
"My tree!" shouted the enraged Mother Goddess of the West Coast. "They killed one of my trees!"
"I told you so," told her so the Mother Goddess of the Great White North.
They heard this thunderous laugh boom down from the sky and saw S, the little tyke, carrying another tree, preparing to throw it for his dog.
"The little monster's ripping my trees out of the ground!" The Mother Goddess of the West Coast was shaking with rage. Sex was far from her usually lustful mind at that moment, delicious darlings. She loved the green more than anything, cuties, more than sweaty flesh rubbing against sweaty flesh, more than the feel of a nipple against her tongue, more than the pressure of a hard prick on her bouncy buttocks, more than anything, anything at all, my nirvanic nymphs.
"I told you so," told her so again the Mother Goddess of the Great White North.
"Hey, kid!" shouted the Mother Goddess of the West Coast as loud as she could. Hell, she screamed her lungs out, my horny cuties. "Come down here! Now!"
Ooh, my cuddlies, she was angry, she was.
"Be careful, Greenie, he's dangerous." The Mother Goddess of the Great White North decided to step back and observe. I told ya before, my succulent morsels, she was one smart cookie.
The kid dropped the tree and flew right over. He floated face-to-face with the Mother Goddess of the West Coast. "'Ello, nekkid green-'aired lady! Whaddaya want? Wanna play wit' me an' doggie?"
"No," the Mother Goddess of the West Coast cooled down. She realized that this kid was dangerous stuff. But she had to stop him from tearing down all of her beloved trees. There had to be a better way for him to play fetch with his doggie, y'know?
"Kid, you shouldn't hurt the trees like that, it's not nice."
"Is green nekkid lady saying that me am not nice?"
Uh oh. . . the little tyke's temper was starting to flare up! His dog immediately noticed and flew over to growl at the offending Mother Goddess.
"I didn't say that, kid, I didn't say that. Maybe, like, you just didn't know any better. It's not your, like, fault or anything."
"Is green nekkid lady saying that me am stupid?"
As you can see, my harem of orgasmic indulgers, the tyke was kinda irascible. He didn't take well to criticism.
"No, no, I didn't say that. I'm just, like, trying to tell you how things work here. You're, like, new here. How could you have known, huh?"
"Okay green nekkid lady. Do you wanna play now?" The dog relaxed and decided the trouble was over. He plopped down on the grass and rolled in it like it was, like, the most fun a body could have. Maybe for dogs it is. They are strange and wonderful creatures.
"Huh. . . like. . . sure. . . yeah. . . anything you want, cutie. Like, anything. Let's play." The Mother Goddess of the West Coast was starting to think that maybe she'd licked the situation, y'know?
"Okay, lady! Me got good game!" S took a deep, deep breath and blew a gust of moist, freezing cold air around the Mother Goddess of the West Coast, encasing her in a big block of ice. He whirled delightedly in the air, pleased to no end with himself.
"Bad green nekkid lady say mean t'ings to me!" And before the ice could melt by itself, he shot it with red-hot beams from his eyes and melted it, and the Mother Goddess of the West Coast along with it. Sadly, that, my beauties, is the last the world has seen of that green Mother Goddess of plentiful pleasures.
Y'know, breasts are a wonderful thing. Truly they are and no doubt about it. Bear with me, cuties, I know you think this is a non-sequitur, but it ain't. It leads right into the next major event in our story. I just feel I, like, need to lead up to it somehow. So just relax, sexy darlings, and trust that I am saying the words that need to be said for the story to have the full impact that it truly really truly should have.
So, breasts. Mmm, breasts. Yeah. . . well. . . Y'see on K (remember the gigantoid planet our rambunctious little tyke came from?) the scientists had long ago convinced the women to stop breast-feeding their hungry starved-for-affection little darlings. Yup, all the women all used bottles filled up with some kinda yucky formula crap. No breasts for the little darlings. No way, not ever. So no wonder they all grew up to be loveless nazis and soulless ornaments.
But, my tender fleshy pretties, what they neglected to pay attention to on planet K is that young babies, like just about everybody else for that matter, want breasts, need breasts. Hey? Why not? They're great! No matter how much I get I always want more. So I empathize with the little darlings. Give 'em all the breasts they need, I say.
But there's babies, and then there's the cosmically mutated powerhouse S.
So, yeah, back to S, back to the story.
S was getting hungry, yes he was.
He was about to burst into tears from hunger when he spotted the Mother Goddess of the Great White North. To be more specific, lusty hearts, he spotted her huge breasts, breasts into which you could lose yourself for a lifetime or two. Yeah, he zeroed in on those tremendous tits like a cat to a mouse covered in fresh cat-nip.
Now, y'see, as I've explained, S had never been breast-fed, but he knew, deep down, that those mounds of flesh would quench all kinds of thirsts and hungers, including many, my dears, that he never knew he had.
In a flash, his mouth was suckling at the breast of the Mother Goddess of the Great White North. This Mother Goddess, like Mother Goddesses everywhere, had the ability to lactate at will, so she let her breast flow with rich, comforting milk. She filled up the tyke with her delicious juices of life and tenderly cradled him in her sweet, tasty arms.
The tyke closed his eyes, feeling all that wonderful liquid fill him up. It made him feel warm and cozy to be nestled so comfortably against those big, soft breasts. He felt better than he ever had. This was the life! Poor thing, he had never ever before pressed his needy little mouth on loving tits.
He fell asleep right there in her arms. The dog, brandishing a big branch in his mouth, nuzzled up to them and fell asleep too.
What a scene, huh? Wouldn't that make a beaut of an end, all nice and cozy and squishy and happy-like. Except, well, S was bound to wake up sooner or later. So, my soft-skinned marvels of wanton sensuality, let's skip ahead a bit, shall we?
Yeah, so, S woke up with his little baby lips still wrapped around the Mother Goddess of the Great White North's nutritious nipple. And he started to suck with the full strength of his superpowerful muscles. . . and. . . ooh, my sensuous morsels of fleshy delights. . . this is gonna hurt. . . but it's the true events as they really happened. . . I'm just tellin' it like it was. . . .So S was suckin' away at the Mother Goddess of the Great White North's titillating tit, sucking away with his superpowerful mouth muscles. . . and he. . . and he. . . man, oh, man. . . he ripped the skin right off of her so fast she couldn't do anything to stop him. He flew up above her faster than a flash with her skin hanging from his mouth, obviously having the time of his life.
Sexy darlings, the Mother Goddess of the Great White North screamed the most horrifying scream imaginable, or hell, even unimaginable.
So there she was, her bodily liquids dripping from her unprotected de-skinned body, suffering pain like no living being should ever have to suffer. The kid whirling up in the air like a fiendish imp. And there was O the dog who was sniffing at her smelly innards with rapidly mounting interest.
Darlings, the pain was killing her. She was gonna die any second now, but she really did not want to be devoured alive by some kinda cosmic mutant super-pooch.
So she gathered all her strength before surrendering her consciousness forever and whipped up one of her trademark floating white bubbles, encasing both S and O in it and sending it flying towards. . . .
. . .Me! The one and only truly tremendous, absolutely amazing, sensually sexy, manfully musky, mischievously mirthful, cunningly charming, wonderfully witty, comfortably cuddly, happily horny, rascally resourceful, fantastically fertile, deliciously delightful Wizard of North America!
She had great respect for my intelligence, she did, the Mother Goddess of the Great White North. I guess she must've figured if anyone could do anything about this situation it was me, the wonderful Wizard of North America. I like the way that name just rolls off my tongue, y'know. But, hey, I like to roll a lot of things on my tongue.
It would have been convenient if the Mother Goddess of the Great White North could've simply sent the pair cruising through outer space somewhere, but the Mother Goddesses derive their powers from Mother Earth. They have no power or jurisdiction outside of this wonderfully plentiful globe.
Hey! Talking about space travel, my savoury sweeties. . . .It's a strange thing, space travel. Really it is. Now as you recall, S's father, J, had put the kid and his dog in suspended animation during their space journey. Who knows how long it really took? Anyway what does time mean in outer space? A second or a million years can mean the same thing, y'know. And who knows what kind of totally, like, cosmic space warps, time warps, space-time warps and other reality warping warps space-travelling objects encounter during their outer-space jaunts. . . .But anyway. . . the point I'm trying to make in my own inimitable fashion is that the rocket bearing S and O was not the first object from K to reach the Earth. Nope. Not at all.
Listen. . . .Isn't this grove nice and comfy--not to mention fantastically spectacular to look at, my precious succulent cuties? Isn't it? It sure is. It's the grove of the Wizard of North America. I designed it. I put every rock in its place, or at least asked others politely to move the rocks where I wanted them. I like to call this place the Grove of Green Glowing Rocks. It's got a nice ring to it. Hey, this place is kinda like magic, y'know? Yeah!
I still remember when I was just a young wizard, and I looked up in the sky one night and saw all these green glowing rocks of all shapes and sizes fall from the sky. What an outtasight sight it was!
Trust me, my moist and tender sweeties, it all connects. Now, back to the boy and his dog.
At that time, the grove had already been erected, the green glowing rocks had fallen from the sky years before.
So here I was, smack in the middle of this wondrous land of North America, in my Grove of Green Glowing Rocks, playing with the erect love-organs of several very virile young men. . . and the Mother Goddess of the Great White North's bubble landed right next to me, scattering away all my delicious playmates.
As soon as it landed, the bubble burst and out of it came S and O, not looking very happy at the situation. They rose off the ground for about half a second, preparing to fly off to more mischief, when they all of a sudden, both of them, groaned this really, really deep, painful groan and dropped to the ground, right onto my spectacular, sparkling green glowing rocks.
It didn't take long that both of our outer-space alien visitors turned some kinda sickly shade of green themselves and just plain died.
You guessed it! The rocks, these rocks all around you, are the remains of the long-lost exploded homeworld of baby S and poochie O--and through some strange cosmic quirk they give off a kinda radiation that is just plain fatal to a native of planet K, but absolutely totally harmless to any other living creature.
We burned the corpses and that was the end of S and O and their Mother Goddess killing spree.
Of course we were out three Mother Goddesses and that's not very good for morale, y'know.
So I took a trip and went south. There I found the gloriously voluptuous Mother Goddess of the Sunny South soaking in the sun on a beach while four bountifully breasted beauties were servicing her electrifying bod. Two sucking her toes, two sucking her tits.
Not wanting to interrupt or anything I just sat back and let them do what they obviously did very well. When things quieted down I harrumphed my way into the Mother Goddess of the Sunny South's presence.
She looked up at me and smiled a smile that would send the blood coursing vigorously through the oldest of old pricks. Sexy golden anklets and bracelets fetchingly surrounded the alluring ankles and wrists of the Mother Goddess of the Sunny South. The golden necklaces that hung around her neck mingled with her golden hair, which was sprawled out on the sand, like her luscious limbs.
She asked the four babes to leave us alone. We watched their bouncy bottoms bounce away, smiling and sighing at the enchanting sight.
The Mother Goddess of the Sunny South turned to me and said, "Hey, Wiz, baby, what brings you here?"
I explained our predicament: three Mother Goddesses slain by an alien infant.
We both knew what to do.
I slid down on top of her and kissed her gorgeous body from her cutest toe to the top of her golden head. I slid my slippery organ of reproduction into her moist receptacle of love, and we communed in the most ecstatic of ecstasies until we both howled in rapturous release.
So, my succulent sexpods, that is how and when your mother the Mother Goddess of the Sunny South got pregnant with you three tantalizing triplet Mother Goddesses-to-be. And, if I may say so, she raised you to be quite delectably delicious Mother Goddesses. Now, before I unleash your potent sexuality on our lush continent and send you forth to celebrate and affirm the sensuality of the world, I've got an itch I know the three of you will scratch just totally, like, screamingly. Yeah!
© 2003, Claude Lalumière