The pranks that are great

"Yeah ? Oh, you must be Hebrewdiah! Ellen's in the shower. Would you like to come in ?"
"I would... but I didn't think to bring a towel."
She laughed while turning, with her entire body somehow, lilting and feminine. None of those big, coarse "ha's." Do you know those ?

Her turning made it plainly obvious she also possessed many of those other qualities prized by the Superficial Male, and was well aware of it, and not exactly unfamiliar with their being put to good use. He followed her into the tiny living room of the small two bedroom apartment, self-obviously intended for the warehousing of the indistinct, indescriptly overabundant, small and adaptable "nuclear family" of 1980s poverty. Nominally it had been designed for the affordable confort of the pair "for the first few years", while that period lasted during which the female was still nuliparous, perhaps tenuously extended into the first few years after her first parturition in the (ever more common) case of means-tested couples ; but meanwhile they had been repurposed, "under persistent economic pressures", for the temporarily-perpetual storage of "room mates", which is to say girls in that dubious social situation where the passage of time has inexorably differentiated them away from normally developed humans. Throughout highschool and four years of college the byproducts of socialist fermentation manage to more or less credibly pass for normal human girls, on the strength of the particularly low expectations human society has always put on that particular demographic ; but as the 22nd birthday comes, and goes, as "more study" slowly yet inescapably degrades into an ever more transparent proxy for "there's no useful work she can do, let alone wants to do, to say nothing of how there's no-one wanting her to do it, or even interested in allowing her to try"... the Desperate Decade, harbinger of a lifetime steeped in post-socialist horror, horrifyingly dawns. "Living life to the fullest", they try to distract themselves, "in an urban environment", as if the sad villages left behind the demise of Cafe Society ever had or ever could be confused into having anything in common with urban spaces. "The many fascinations and attractions of town", they try, soaking up "inexplicable" tears inexplicably springing in bed at night, the mini-apple outside ever more mini, ever less apple.

"Would you like something to drink ?"
"If you're having something."
"Sure. Whiskey ?"
"Uhh... I'm intolerant to cereals."
"Oh. How about... rum ?"
"Bacardi ?"
"Yeah."
"That's... Cognac ?"
"Brandy."
"Anything from fruit at all ?"
"I guess... wine ?"
"Yeah."
"Merlot ?"
"But of course", he let out with the emphatic exasperation of "But of course that's what you'd misguidedly come up with". She took it as the much lighter direct, and within a minute he was stuck nursing a glassful of Cook's equivalent, but "Merlot" instead of "Champagn". "It's big on the US market" has always meant something quite akin to "it's popular with the livestock" in the Denominazione di Origine Controllata lands.

He surveyed the meagre surroundings a mini-minute. She was smiling on the couch, her left leg folded under the right thigh, her feet bare, her jeans standard, tightly fit, her white blouse common, her blonde hair ordinary. She had the great smile, the big blue eyes and the big fat titties of corn-fed midwest, Kansas, Arkansas, who even knows all the Injun denominations of controlling origins. His gaze made her slightly uncomfortable, and as this realisation shuddered its way under his very eye through the larger part of her nervous system, to her entirely subconscious, it made her unhappy with herself. She didn't, subconsciously, approve of herself in that role ; to mask the process she offered up a sacrificial goat : "Oh, I didn't even introduce myself. Hi! My name's Laura."
He nodded, like you'd encourage a shy, perhaps slightly retarded nine years old. "Hi Laura." he offered neutrally. She smiled again. His eyes fixed on hers, and as her smile faded he offered "Do you like pranks, Laura ?"
She shuddered again, plain visible this time, and catching herself she nodded vigurously. "Oh yeah! Pranks are great!"
"Take your clothes off." he said, lightly, a smile starting to form in the corner of his eye.
"Seriously ?!" she inquired, shock and desperation intermingled in her voice. She knew she was going to do it, she didn't know why, or where it'd end. Where it'd lead. That's what thrilled her so about it, though she didn't know to think about that. Not yet, at any rate.
"Definitely."
She extracted herself from her blouse and the strappy harness underneath, dangling her loving, welcoming bosom coyly about, the corner of her eye trained on him as she reached for her jeans' oversnap.
"The panties too." he said, as she was settling herself.
"Everything ?!" she begged, a nine year old's voice squeaking out of her mouth three times that age.
"Everything."
She sat, uncomfortably, painfully unsure of herself, her knees to her chest and her arms wrapped around them.
"Separate your feet a little more, yeah, to either side. That's good." he said, just as Ellen froze in the entranceway.

The little hallway uniting the two tiny bedrooms and the tinier bathroom with the minuscule livingroom, two feet wide by perhaps three feet long, had wall to wall carpeting, which is how they misrepresent a pile-up of plastic fibers entirely indistinguishable from industrially processed garbage in real estate commercial communication. Very luxurious, wall to wall carpeting ; and, according to the lengthy and involved legal verbiage reglementing the activity over however many tens of thousands of pages, at least five square feet of hallway were enough to qualify for the appleation. Six, or almost six in any case, definitely qualifies for that "at least five" qualification, and therefore there she stood, dripping discreetly on socialism's own carpet, which was "wall to wall".
"I... I see you two made each other comfortable..." she hissed.
The man stood up and moved to the couch, jettissoning his Beerlot in the process. He grabbed the blonde on his left by the scruff of her neck, and pulled her closer towards his chest. He reached his free hand and, after separating Laura's knees such that her left remained vertical but her right came to rest almost horizontally against his own thighs he said "Quite the little slut, isn't she." Then, as a marked pinkish hue expanded its domain from the girl's scarlet-red, burning cheeks over her throat and down in the valley, her tiny, salmon-pink nipples standing to an almost painful attention like two little peas, he rested the very same right paw on her pubic mound, for some reason shaved smooth. His eyes fixed the other's, as she stood there, across the six feet of "room", still dripping. "Are you two sexually intimate ?" he inquired matter of factedly, as his knuckles started a slow, comforting circular motion with a definite downward component, slow yet overpowering like a flood of molasses. Blondy shook her head violently, her eyes closed, a slight purr inside her throat somewhere. Ellen started towards them, on unsure footing, before his firm, even gaze stopped her dead in her tracks. She dropped her towel, exposing her toned, trim body wrapped in the brown paper her parents had on hand way back when, two decades and some odd years ago. Her mother, mostly, as it happens.

She came on invisible wires starting somewhere on that iridescent waterfront covering his eyes in dancing shadows and meaningful glimmers. She came just like a cable car, just like any other industrial puppet brought to some motive semblance of life by force and electricity, though she was very much made of flesh. Doubtlessly flesh, yet still mechanically animated somehow. Inches away from her room-mate she stopped, and, resting her own foot high up on the side of the couch she reached down between herself and took to copying his hand movements with her own. Laura's eyes were still closed, but her nostrils flared, violently, betraying animalic eagerness. Something she smelled, though no scent was perceptible in the narrow, constrained space of their threesome intimacy. Even smaller than the efficiency apartment, even more compact than the impossibly contradictory needs of that nuclear family of ages past allowed. As a droplet of dew began to form in the cleft of brown skin, his left hand pushed the blond's head closer, slowly, definitely, until her lips made cuntfall. He moved the limp head up and down slowly, and soon Laura's lips were suckling, her tongue following the general pattern. He rubbed the other's abundant font on his captive's nose, deliberately, enjoying the shivers it sent through her back every time. His own hand carefully teased, expertly avoiding the yearned for explosion, the familiar release. He had her spinning endlessly on the very cusp of the drain, tense, sweating, desperate yet, on some deep level, resigned, accepting, and throughout obedient. Suddenly Ellen turned, bending her knees, forcing her backside into the other's face, firmly, demandingly. Laura's eyes popped open as his grip became steely. He whispered "put your tongue inside her, deep, deep inside her, reach deep inside her" and Ellen shuddered, then collapsed to her knees under the unbearable burden of cataclysmic release. His hand dropped Laura into the black hole, and then chased her, forcing her to continue despite her own habits, rubbing her through her orgasm to shattering, multiplying endlessness. She tried to squirm away, to fight him off at first, but after a few brief moments her spasms became much too disorganised, much too complete, utterly complete to arrive at any definite goal, besides perhaps the stretching of her soul upon her stretching bones like new hide on a drum.

He pushed her neck forward firmly, sharply, losing her balance for her, sending her drained body like so much debris piling into the open arms of the other one still writhing on the floor ; then, as they kissed and curled tightly together in a ball of bliss and love he rested his feet on their collective body.

The end.