Doralea held her breath as one of them moved closer to her, seeking more to pick up.
Crouching in the dark, the figure moved closer, without seeing her.
Doralea pressed her back into the wall, but she was discovered.
The masked face looked up at her own. The hidden eyes lowered in a step to her heaving breasts, then quickly down to check her pussy mound — at eye level to the crouched figure.
Then, without a word or a sign, he moved on about the task at hand.
“OK, we’re ready now,” the other one announced and suddenly a corridor of light led from the pool where Gavia lay, to a larger pool now illuminated near the door.
A large wheeled platform carrying an immense man sitting in an elaborate throne was quickly pushed into the larger pool of light by three more figures, clad in the identical black costumes, which rendered them virtually invisible in the darkness. They then joined the original two to stand in a semi-circle around Gavia, still lying limp on the floor.
As Doralea peered, she realized that the throne was made up of people, costumed and painted and intertwined in an elaborate living sculpture. Three people dressed in shimmering, blue sheer bodysuits on their hands and knees made the seat. On each side a cord-wrapped woman on hands and knees, her head to the front, supported a fully naked recumbent female, legs wrapped around the supporting arms. This position stretched and trust forward their clean-shaven pussies. The huge man rested his elbows between these women’s breasts and his hands draped casually over their cunt-mounds.
Two tall men stood, their balls tabled on the foreheads of the armrest women. They were painted blue, with yellow bars and small red circles, and a thick coil of white cloth hung from their necks, snaked around their torsos, to hang behind them from their waists.
Between them stood a woman with her hair pulled back into loose buns behind each ear, the huge man’s thick head of hair pillowed between her large, soft breasts.
A thick patch of wiry pubic hair pyramided up his powerfully corrugated abdomen to his deep navel. Between his legs the man’s uncircumcised cock hung flaccid over his apple-sized nuts. Even hanging half limp, his monstrous snake was the size of a banana.
At a wave of one of his huge hands, the dark-clad Noh stagehands clustered around Gavia’s limp body. However, one scampered quickly up to whisper into the enthroned man’s ear.
To Doralea’s horror, he pointed directly at her and the man’s eyes seemed to pierce the darkness.
His voice rolled like deep thunder, “Fetch her.”
The black figure sprang from the platform and gestured to the cluster around the recumbent blonde. One of them joined the sprint toward Doralea. She stood, quaking against the wall. The two grabbed her just above the wrist and elbow and walked her quickly across the floor. Everyone watched as she was held before the platform, the huge man looking down with deeply shaded eyes.
He leaned forward to stroke her breast, to touch her tattoo. Shivers chased along her limbs. Her blood pounded between her ears. She went weak and slumped heavily in the grasp of the two who held her.
The man sat back with a wide enigmatic smile.
“Down before me.”
As if weighted by his voice, Doralea was pressed down to kneel on the platform, between his massive legs. The smell, the feel of her shoulders against his powerful thighs — she recognized this.
This was the man from the “Filling”.
She thrilled at the memory; her pussy puffing even more, her nipples growing harder on her ballooning tits and her mouth now filling with saliva.
She feared that she would be unable to accommodate the massive cock she now saw for the first time – it was the size of her forearm.
But, then she remembered that she already had, when driven onto it by blows on her ass.
“Dick rest,” commanded the rumbling voice.
Doralea was jerked about, handled with quick movement and made to slide her feet beneath the throne. Her elbows were on the platform; her ass was pressed between his monstrous thighs.
His balls hung heavily against her butt.
She felt his hands delicately draping his cock along the crack of her ass; it extended well up her spine to her waist. The women arm-rests each placed a foot on her shoulder, and her wrists were lifted to be held up by the women. Her breasts swung beneath her, hardened nipples scraping the carpet covering the platform.
“Hair.”
In response to his rumble one of the stagehands at her side gathered her hair and pulled it up to give it into his hand. He wrapped it around his cock, pulling her head up. She looked out over the scene before her.
The stage-hands dressed in black now quickly leapt to the small circle around Gavia.
The lighting changed, tightening onto her languid form and the hands grasped the poles extending from her limbs and lifted her. Music began to play and a song was sung.
The hands moved Gavia through a dance following the story of the song and the rhythm of the music.
They used the poles to flip her arms and legs and guide her spine and head.
Doralea recognized the Bunraku puppet.
An extremely thin woman, her chocolate skin covering just enough muscle and fat to keep her knees and elbows from knobbiness entered.
A tight doe-skin halter with dangling feathers and hanging bead-strings bound her high tits. A short, tight rawhide wrap-around skirt girdled hips.
She danced to Gavia and began rubbing against her like a cat. She laid her cheek against Gavia’s thigh, held open widely by the black-clad Bunraku puppeteers.
She dragged upwards, keeping her cheek pressed against the blonde’s tan skin, and adding her neck, her shoulder, her breast, her belly, as she slithered up Gavia’s body.
She humped the powerful thigh, then turned and offered her ass, as if to a man. The puppeteers obliged her indicated request and it appeared to Doralea that Gavia was pumping a long cock into the thin woman’s ass.
The man in the throne slowly stroked his cock, still holding Doralea’s head, pulling if more sharply up. She was quivering now, continuously, too highly charged to come, to tightly wound to relax.
The scene before her (the thin woman acting like she was getting an ecstatic reaming, Gavia a thickly drugged puppet, the two of them locked in a complex erotic dance) and the tableau of the throne, (now imagined, based on her memory and current sounds and feelings) continued to push her toward her culminating climax, yet she could not come.
As the man pumped his cock with her scalp tethered by her hair, she was pushed and pulled and her swaying breasts slapped together, and, occasionally, scraped the rug harshly.
The thin woman now assumed a limbo-style posture, splay-legged and leaning back, nearly horizontal. Gaviafs puppeteers lifted one of her thighs high, her foot dangling from the knee, positionod her over the dark head and the woman began to chew her cunt mound.
They moved the blonde forward slightly and the dark woman mouthed between her ass-cheeks.
The thin woman’s small, doe-skin covered tits were captured between the powerful thighs and Gavia’s cunt was ground into them, squeezing and gyrating.
The woman reached up to use the blonde’s shoulders as grips, the long dark fingers standing out in contrast to the rich tan.
Gavia was dragged down to straddle her waist.
From Doralea’s point of view, it seemed that the dark, wide-spread legs, displaying a bright pink gash flashing beneath the black curling hairs, belonged to the tall blonde.
Suddenly, the dance changed and the dark woman was standing behind Gavia, reaching her arms around, her hands flitting lightly over every inch of Gavia’s torso. Her fingers pinched hard and pulled up a tight patch of skin, then released it to glow red and moved to a new patch. Again and again the dark, dancing hand plucked at her breasts and belly, until they had quilted her torso with a blazing pattern of red marks.
The thin woman spiraled away, dancing out the door.
The puppeteers danced Gavia to the throne.
Doralea could see that the grey eyes still sparked through their drugged languor, and Gavia smiled in her lassitude.
The puppeteers draped the heavy form along Doralea’s back. Her hair was released by the huge hand, but was still trapped between the blonde’s body and her own back.
Gavia’s cunt was pressed against the back of Doralea’s head and she could tell, from the sounds and the pounding of the Blonde’s chin against her ass, that the puppeteers were filling her mouth with the giant cock.
Her head was swimming and now, with the added weight of the tall blonde, her breasts were mashed into the carpet. The women had released her wrists, but still she was pinned.
Abruptly, the huge man began to thrust upward into the drug-slackened mouth, finally stiffening, and Doralea could feel his balls pulse with his powerful climax.
She felt much of his come flow down to her ass; apparently Gavia was in no condition to swallow much of it.
The puppeteers flopped Gavia back over to her place. They laid her face-up on the bolster and unbuckled their poles; leaving her draped arms akimbo.
The man pushed Doralea off the platform with his foot; she crumpled willingly onto the floor. She was in a daze, her heart pounding in her head, her own breath loud in her ears. She watched as Gavia’s wrist cuffs were reattached and the thin black chain was lowered to where she lay. The collar was attached and the puppeteers wheeled the platform out the door, with its living throne and the huge man who sat on it.
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Doralea lay in a heap on the floor and gazed at Gavia, loosely chained and draped over the dog-sized bolster. The tall blonde was still deep in her drug languor. Her long hair was fanned over the twin pinnacles of her breasts and the expanse of her tautly stretched belly – a thin blanket, a translucent veil.
Doralea’s body quivered incessantly, driven by the strength of her unreleased orgasm. She was acutely aware of every twitch, every pressure. She ached to come, but was too excited to relax sufficiently to release her climax.
She felt a thick drop of the giant’s come slither a path down her upper ass cheek, to drop heavily into her crack and pool in the puffy topography of her quim.
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