Cascade Fire Ch. 00 – Prologue

Big Dick

Prologue: Sati

The story so far, from Were-Tigress: Book 1 of Real Amazons, Real Magic

Bob, a loving husband and father, finds a grimoire and begins learning magic, then meets two compelling women: Morgan and Mari. Morgan is young and stunning while Mari, older and intending psycho-sexual hypnotic ownership over Bob, becomes a were-tigress in order to forcibly and repeatedly seduce him. Bob’s conscious mind submerges along with his memory and much of his ability to reason and speak. Lost in the system, he becomes homeless.

Someone woke me, stood me up, brought me to a soup kitchen and a hot breakfast. Told them we were together, that she was so happy to find her husband again. Her name was Sati. She had a baby and a bed at the adjacent shelter. A mellifluous consonant heavily-accented voice, though tired. She seemed to be about 35. She led me to a shower at the shelter and helped clean me up. Ran my remaining clothes through the wash. I could perform some relatively mindless functions myself: eat, drink, remove clothes, relieve myself on the toilet, but others like soaping up, drying off, shaving, brushing teeth, were beyond me. She worked around my ever-present tumescence quickly and thoroughly, pronounced me presentable, laid me down in her bed, alone, to sleep in peace while my clothes got clean.

The shelter had a visitation policy and couldn’t accommodate a man and woman with a child overnight, but she’d made inquiries at another place that could accommodate families and had asked about bringing me in if she found me. These kinds of places were rare and precious, and she told me if we didn’t behave we would be kicked out immediately. Not that I understood. After lunch she fitted the duffel containing all her possessions to my shoulders, tucked her baby into a sling, held my hand as we navigated across downtown. Through the very same bus stops I’d walked past some interminable number of days ago, a lifetime ago.

Apparently one of the women who’d taken advantage of my perpetual erection in her tent had told Sati, who’d been interested in this nonviolent, healthy, relatively fit, not-bad-looking older man as a way into a nicer shelter, willing to share a room and a little privacy with a nonverbal, barely responsive but compliant partner who might also have other uses. And who knows, maybe I might come around from my walking coma and turn out to be something … except for cracked ribs, broken tooth, bruises, and scabbed cheeks I seemed to be fairly well-kept, and I wasn’t wearing a ring. It had been stolen but Sati couldn’t have known that.

She took my hand, laid her baby on the bed beside me, laid my hand on him. That was nice … it had been a few years since my kids were that young, but my body remembered. I stroked his head and hair, rubbed his temples gently. His name was Lashe. She put one of my hands behind his neck, the other under his diaper, and moved my hands to lift him, then hold him. I probably smiled. My body remembered well how to hold a baby, his chin over my shoulder. I rocked him slowly and he cooed at Sati behind me.

She let me rock him for a minute, then took him back gently, laid him in a crib next to the bed, soothed him to sleep, which didn’t take long. Laid me down. She was wearing a long, voluminous skirt and a shapeless winter top that allowed no perception of what she might have looked like underneath. She was about 5’7″, her blonde hair long and not well-kept, but she had pretty blue-gray-green eyes. Her face unlined but tired-seeming, so she might’ve been younger than she first appeared. She climbed atop me, adjusted her long skirt, and took me into her. She was warm and wet, and I was as hard as I’d been since encountering Nancy’s enormous, engrossing tits.

She rode me slowly, whispering to me in a language I’d never heard before, but which seemed to have a lot of “zsh” sounds, like a soft French “J”. It was soothing, would have even been hypnotic if I’d had awareness to be hypnotized. She was not tight, having given birth less than three months earlier, but she had a way of moving her hips …

I want your
Feelings
Gimme, yes
Aaahhhh

She came. I was as unable as I’d been with the two other women who’d mounted me since Nancy, though my body floated in currents of pleasure.

Sati kept going. Put her hands on my chest, brushing thumbs over my nipples, squeezing me, lower. Not hard, maybe she couldn’t, but enough to make her feel tight. Slid up and down while squeezing. Her cervix was a bit prolapsed and was bumping against me. My hands moved to her skirt, under it, to her bottom, mind still gone but body doing something it knew.

She was more slender than her clothes let on, soft rounded legs, hips, tummy, buttocks. A very slim waist. She rocked her hips, squeezed me, gasped, pled in her unfamiliar, euphonious tongue. She seemed to like my cock head against her cervix, rubbed us together as she rocked. Longer vowels now, not so much words anymore. Soft moans, squeezes, Isparta Escort harder now. Something in my body was changing.

She came again and stayed near the edge. My mind was still filled with visions of another woman’s immense overwhelming breasts, my hands exploring, my cock doing what cocks do, separate. The song in my head changed again.

This is for holding on
You reeled me in when I was gone
I owe you so much more than this
Until then, I give this song

Sati’s hips rocked, she squeezed around me, her thumbs playing over my nipples. She leaned down, kissed me deep, hard, increasingly deep, her breathing rough. The currents my pleasure flowed within were rushing now. She rose, pulling away, but only just. 10 seconds, then took me back in, rode me, pulled away when her breath told my unconscious self that she would come again. Again. Again.

Her voice, expressing so much pleasure, was so beautiful. Musical. Elemental. Female.

She squeezed around me. Held me, my body throbbing, cock spasming, a fugue of impulse, hers and mine. Her moan rising to a wail, begging, desperate. For my release.

My body relaxed. It was close but not inevitable. My body was learning that when release was close, it could be so much stronger when I relaxed. The fingers of one of her hands dug into my shoulder. She pinched a nipple with the other. Squeezed me inside her, as hard as she could, which wasn’t very.

Reached to her waist, drew open her top, which was … a word drifted past … a caftan?

Reached back for one of my hands, lifted it to her breast. It was a nice breast, distended, full of milk for her son. She lowered it to my lips, but I’m tall enough that she couldn’t keep me inside her as she did, so she took my head in her hands instead, stroked the back of my neck, nudged my cock with the back of her soft smooth ankle.

Her milk came quickly. This had been fun when Joanna was still nursing our kids. I’d been able to easily bring her to orgasm just by licking and nibbling and sucking her nipples. Her milk was so much sweeter than from a carton, but I never drank more than a few drops at a time … when her milk dropped she tended to leak all over everywhere unless our baby de jour drank her dry or she was able to use a breast pump, so cleanup could be more trouble than it was worth for both of us to get her started. But I’d loved how her breasts had grown so much while nursing and retained some of that increased size after. I’d also been able to get her milk flowing just by imitating the sound of a newborn’s cry, which I’d annoyed her with more than once.

Sati’s milk was as sweet, and she came again, hard, just from my lips and teeth and tongue, then plunged back onto me and came yet again. She was becoming more vocal, rougher, less restrained. I was on the edge myself, close enough that a little push in the right direction would send me over, and while she didn’t know my body as well as Joanna or Mari, she seemed to know plenty about pleasing a man – this would be a big one when it came, if she stayed with it.

Her rhythm changed. It seemed like she was withdrawing into herself, almost like I’d been doing with Mari. Relaxing. She was still sliding up and down on me, both of us completely slippery inside and out. But she also did something I’d done with Mari, going within herself and then expanding awareness outward.

She entered me.

It should’ve been no use, there was nothing of a mind left in me, just physical sensation and the vision of Nancy’s huge tits, but she found that. And I found my vision changing. Nancy’s tits were fully engulfing my cock now, rocking my world. I completely lost it. It would have been the biggest orgasm of my life if not for Mari, but it was really good, went on and on.

Sati came twice more, loudly, as I continued spasming into her, the second time like a deep aftershock.

We came down slowly together, breathing hard, her still whispering unfamiliar, sibilant felicity, smiling. She nestled into my side, kissing me gently, happily. Lashe was stirring in the crib and she rose, lay him between us, and nursed for about 15 minutes, stroking our hair gently, lovingly, whispering. She put Lashe back into his crib, where he went back to sleep, then nestled back into me. I drifted, floated, still with Nancy’s tits occupying my vision, though not so vividly as before. We both napped, Sati’s arm around my chest, her caftan open, sharing warmth.

“You are sorceror. Father,” she whispered, some time later.

I couldn’t reply, couldn’t even consciously understand, but some part of me listened.

“I am sorceress, mother, trickster,” she said. “You must come back.”

No visible or audible response from me. She sighed.

“You will come back,” she said, sighed again, stroked my forehead, took a deep breath, expanded her awareness into me.

“I learn this from you,” she said. “Is good trick.” I could feel her smile. She Isparta Escort Bayan explored further, tickling memory, sensation, insensibility. “It is like curse you have,” she whispered. “I help, but you must lead.”

No response from me but even, regular breathing. She sighed, lay her head down next to me, her arm and one leg still over me, her caftan still open. Warmth, awareness open. We napped again until Lashe woke and Sati took him back into bed with us. Nursed him, whispered to him, played with him. Told him stories in her strange language. Her words passed over me, unheeded by conscious mind, but some distillation of me understood. These were old, old tales, never written down but transmitted orally for millennia. Older than Bragi Boddason, Homer, I Ching, the Pentateuch, perhaps as old as the Upanishads, Gilgamesh, or even older.

Sati rose, left Lashe on the bed, me spooning him. He was a small warm quiet form against my chest. His heartbeat synchronized with mine, or ours with each other, and we both went to sleep within minutes, but I heard female exclamations outside our room before fading. Sati’s voice slightly embarrassed. Probably her cries during our long tryst had been overheard. Probably I smiled.

She woke us for supper, helped me dress, my clothes clean again. I could really use another shower, but I smelled of her and it was nice. I’d been really deeply asleep, deeper than for many months. A kind of exhausted, drained sleep, not just from the sex. Lashe was also groggy, but accepted her nipple eagerly as she lay on his other side. She stroked my forehead and shoulder, whispered love and acceptance to both of us.

Nancy’s huge tits still overflowed my existence, but more distant now. I wasn’t so continuously erect. When Lashe was done feeding, Sati rose, wrapped a sling around herself, slid Lashe into it. Then she leaned over, took my hand, and walked me out.

Meals at the soup kitchen were pretty simple. Soup of course, bread, starch like rice or pasta or beans or potatoes, sometimes cooked meat for those who want it, greens, which can be a simple salad. Sometimes a casserole, often mac & cheese. Volunteer cooks, food donated directly or from food banks. It could be surprisingly tasty, depending on how fresh the food and who was cooking. My body had become used to it. No one sits for long when more are ready to take your place at the table. It can be like a cafeteria or anywhere else with regulars, but of course that depends on timing. Ofttimes you can sort out who you’ll sit with by moving backwards in the line before entering. When Sati brought me to the end of line, two other women came back to join us. They were older but seemed to look up to her.

I ate and drank, Sati slicing what food on my plate needed it. One of the other women finished early and Sati let her hold Lashe, the three of them conversing in the same strange language the while, their words flowing past unlistenable. But something within me knew an unfinished task awaited. While we were far from the door, each time it opened a breath of cold air followed. Was it warmth I needed? Was it fire?

Nancy’s immense warm tits, boobs, breasts, danced, jounced, jostled across my background. I was hard.

Just be still with me
You wouldn’t believe what I’ve been through

Yeah, gimme some of that good Stevie Ray.

After supper, Sati took me outside for a walk, left Lashe with the other women. She took my hand, my forearm, in both of hers. Spoke to me in her strange, musical language, gaily, skipping almost. I could feel her awareness within me. Experienced echoes of other awareness, Muses, presences. All around me, all around us.

“Use the Force, Luke.”

We walked, she talked, or maybe it was chatter. There was a certain quality about her, something … the word came … numinous. She told me how she’d left her husband, Lashe’s father. How he hadn’t been her first husband, but was useful in getting her into this country. How she’d been searching for someone like … me. All this in her own language, but some part of me understood. Forces to help my understanding were somehow in play, my consciousness having nothing to do with it.

And, oh yeah, she was pregnant again. With my child.

She told me she’d had more children than just Lashe. Most with the same husband, but he died. My walking pace slowed, just a little. Understand, I’m supposed to be fucking sterile now. My vas deferens had been snipped and cauterized. Not necessarily forever, but decisive without a more significant surgery. Three kids was enough, Joanna and I had decided.

I wasn’t consciously slowing, of course, or consciously understanding. It just happened. And she felt it.

“You are surprised?” she asked in English. I still had no way to respond, though some part of me was starting to feel like I would again. Eventually. Another baby? When I’m already married? To the mother of my (other?) children? Wasn’t nursing Escort Isparta supposed to be an effective contraceptive? It had certainly been effective with Joanna, but before my procedure I guess I’d been pretty fucking fertile, or she had, or both of us had – she pretty much got pregnant every time we weren’t being careful.

“Come with me,” she said. There was a bus stop nearby, and bus rides in the city center were free. We rode to a park near a lot of new office buildings mostly filled with young men from other countries. Some were lunching at tables near the park’s edge. Deeper in, a group was doing Tai Chi or Falun Gong or something. Beyond was a small grassy hill in the center of the park, clear but surrounded by trees. She had a blanket in her small pack, spread it on the ground. Sat down holding my hand, tugged me down with her.

“Listen to the wind,” she said, sighing. “Feel it, feel me, feel us.”

It wasn’t exactly quiet here. We were in a park near downtown, surrounded by city, the sounds of human activity surrounding us even from 2-3 blocks away. Cars mostly, the constant dull roar of two nearby elevated freeways plus surface streets when red lights turned green, the honking of impatient drivers, but also construction and the odd yell or siren from one direction or another. An occasional person walked past or around the base of the hill.

I heard the wind over all the other sounds. There wasn’t much, but trees amplified everything. A few tall pines near my tent had raised quite the sleep-hindering racket in even a moderate breeze more than once on backpacking trips in the Sierra. Here now, the wind was much less, but there was still the occasional soughing breeze. My ears listened, my body felt Sati’s presence around me, inside me, and there was more.

I was a mote in a storm. There was so much going on around me. Noises, of course, but that was only the surface. Thoughts, emotions, exertions, flowing past, flowing through.

Sati was more than she seemed. She was deep, balanced, not easily found.

Detected?

But not so deep that she wasn’t able to learn new tricks.

From me?

A woman came up our hill. Spread a blanket nearby. Sat down.

Then another. And another. And a man. And more.

About 20 people were sitting nearby. Calm, each joined in awareness. Pleasant, but that hardly begins to describe it. Some sitting together on blankets, others on their own. Breathing. Calm. Gentle. Most from here, but some not. Some part of the shared awareness, others just vessels, like passive radiators in a speaker cabinet.

Murmuring.

What they were murmuring I do not know, and maybe will never know.

It was really nice, among them. My body listening. Feeling. Adjusting. Perceiving.

Knowing.

OK, this random kinda-prostitute slung her magical tits at me and I went under into something like a curse. Crazy, right? Except it wasn’t, because here I am now with a score of blanket-sitters contributing awareness to … something. Visual awareness of Nancy’s huge tits still surrounded me, but my ears, Sati’s scents on me and around me, the feel of her cool hand in one of mine, her blanket and damp grass under the other, all told of a different reality. And more senses than these were in play.

My eyes closed.

Fire, I’d felt a need to find, but there was none near. Except … if I need a fire and can’t find one, could I start one?

Around me, inside me, the answer was no.

Matches? A lighter?

Some confusion from around me. Why was I drawn to fire?

A spark?

No. No fire, no flame, no spark.

Nancy’s enormous tits occupied so much of my focus. Jiggling, bouncing, mesmerizing.

Colors flowing inside closed eyelids, interwoven with the vision of Nancy’s enormity, occasionally resolving into patterns like afterimages of sights around us, new ones blossoming, pulsing, fading, replaced by others. Occasionally a more recognizable pattern or even a face, moving, speaking without sound. Sometimes music from recognizable songs or songs never written down, or never heard. Even more occasionally a recognizable person for half a minute at a time. Mari. Joanna. Craig. Rowan. Morgan. Nancy, of course, or at least her tits. Replaying something they’d said to me, but without sound. Sati and some of her people could see them, too, revealing more of who I was, where I belonged. Sati’s hand tightened in mine, a finger from her other hand tracing over the back of the one she held. She urged me to smell the fluids she’d marked me with, her milk on my neck and chest, her quim on my cock and belly. Whispered me to experience more and more of her, in her language that I shouldn’t be able to understand but somehow could. I was hard again. She got some sense of the compulsions I’d let Mari keep within me.

“Harder,” Sati said in English, and snapped her fingers, and my cock complied.

“So hard you can’t think.” [SNAP] Redundant, sure, but it was just like it’d been with Mari, my eyes rolling back in my head, this time with no way to resist.

I heard gasps from some of the others around me … this shared awareness had them feeling what I was feeling, but unlike me they weren’t also tangled with compulsions to cum or not cum.

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