When Lola had returned from her Halloween party, dressed as slutty Princess Leia, she seemed coherent, cognizant, and eager to fill her cunt with my cock and cum.  Little did I know that she had eaten enough cannabis confections to outstrip an LSD trip of Grateful Dead proportions.

It was only the next day, when she groggily recounted to me the amazing journey she had taken in her mind and body, that I realized what her subjective sexperience was.

 

“I got home,” she said when she was more sober, “and I felt like I was a honey pot.  Or rather, that my pussy was a honey pot.  I was gushing and oozing, sloshing and dripping.”

“I can confirm that much was true.  I didn’t know at the time it was from so many men at the party finding release between your legs.”

She didn’t take offense at this, but corrected me, “And women.”

“Yes, and women.”

“And then,” she abruptly stopped.

“And then what?”

“It’s so weird!”

“What is?”

“Well, then it was as if I was copulating with. . .”

“With what?”

“With all sorts of insects – bees, hornets, spiders, worms, cockroaches, beetles, slugs – I mean, if it crawls, flies, or slithers, it was fucking me.”

“Formicophilia,” I said.

“Formi-wha?”
“Formicophilia.  It’s an unusual paraphilia.  The kink of having insects crawl on you.”

“But they weren’t crawling.  They were fucking me!  I was human.  It was interspecies sex!”

“It’s a variation on a theme.”

I caught her looking at me funny.  Staring at me.

“What?” I finally asked.

“Oh, Daddy, you know what,” she said.

“No, I don’t know what.”

“Those words.  You know how your vocabulary turns me on.  The fact that you had those words – formicophilia and paraphilia – on your tongue.  It make me want to be on your tongue.”

“Now?” I asked.

“Now.”

“Will you continue telling me your story?”

“Yes.”

She didn’t even get up to go to the bedroom.  Right here on the living room couch – the couch that looks out the front windows of our first floor apartment onto the street – she pulled down her panties, pulled off her shirt, and spread her legs.  She indicated that she wanted me to get on my knees in front of her and go to town with my chrysostom, my golden tongue.

I did exactly that as she continued to recall to me the stimulating horror of her drug-induced hallucinatory hijinks.

“Normally, you know, I’m creeped out by anything – a spider, a snake, even ants!  But in my visions, I wasn’t freaked out at all!  I was focused on the fact that all these creatures wanted me!  They were bursting with need.  They were on the verge of insanity with their hunger for me.  They had to copulate and I was the one and only focus if their intense sexual attraction.”

SLURP – SLOP – SPLUSH

That was the sound of me taking her in my mouth – sucking on her labia, licking up and in her slit, gently tickling her clit.

She continued as her hands held my head between her legs.

“Then the creatures morphed into unidentifiable organisms.  Aliens maybe? Squids? And then everything, everything I touched became a penis.  It was like. . .”

After that, I couldn’t hear what she was saying.  She squeezed her thighs together tightly and her legs covered my ears.  Good thing too, because she began screaming as her juices dribbled down my chin and her legs started to twitch.  She pressed my head down hard with her hands and then, just as surprisingly, pulled me off of her so that she could stroke her pussy with her hand as she squirted in my face.

That was the last I heard of her story.  I retrieved some paper towels to dry off and to clean up the puddle left on the hard-wood floor.

She simply laid back on the couch, relaxed, and dozed off.