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Chapter 3 - Non-identical threesome

Chapter 3 – Non-identical threesome

Chapter Songs – Black White & Blue (Treasure Fingers Remix) – Ladyhawke

“Wait in line you dirty slutty hoe-skank!”

The towering blonde bombshell raised a satanic eyebrow at the brawny bouncer who unceremoniously shooed her, “Mià name starts with a B, and ends with an itchè, ya feel me? Now, muv iit, betchi!” she hissed like a cobra snake then bypassed the angst-ridden, libidinous, and sweaty line outside Club Minxology.

“Brothàr! You cazzo stupido lazy pene! Whàt the f**k are yè waiting for ya? Come uver here!”

“I’ma comin’! Jaysus in heaven you fica!”

Electric blue and vibrant yellow strobe lights beamed and clashed like a Star Wars movie as the two made their way down the cascading red carpet leading to the dance floor. It was a hefty crowd tonight with lots of ficas flying, balls hanging, and weenies flailing with untamed girth. Heated bodies writhed, and familiar tongues lapped at strangers’ mouths as Ladyhawke’s club music blasted into the air like a rainbow orgasm. Uh. Yeah.

“Giv me that shiitz!” commandeered the smexy Itali-Russie as he nabbed two shot glasses with flames on top. He then muscled his way to the dance floor without paying for the shiz he took.

“Wait man! You gotta pay for those!” yelled the smexy waiter, whose definition of clothing was a cop’s hat, red bowtie, and a skimpy black leather bottom.

“Sistyer!” shouted the smexy Itali-Russie over the rave, “Here! I yè got us somâ free drinks.”

“Che cosa!?” [What!?] asked the smexy female Itali-Russie.

“Drink upà,” he ministered to a toast for her sister to clink.

“Evviva!” [Cheers!] was how she received his gesticulation.

The bombshell Itali-Russie female wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, “Ooowaa! Che cazzo era buono!” [Ooowaa! f**k that was good!]

“Sistyer, we béter get us somâ diiick tonight, yes?”

“Giv me that shiitz!” she snitched two shot glasses with flames on top from the same unsuspecting waiter that her brother robbed drinks from.

“Che cosa??” she eyed the maître d' with demonic eyes.

“Ma’am, those are—”

“f**k off!” she spat.

She turned to her brother and clinked, “You beqt your Italian-Russian ass we willk!” she winked.

“Infatti!” [Indeed!] he clinked with his flaming shot glass.

(Glass breaking against the floor) “Merda! Voglio di più.” [s**t! I want more.] she salivated.

She pointed her chin up towards the guy mixing drinks at the bar, “You there foo! Twoè morè Miamiii Vicè yea,” she held two fingers up like a cute Korean doing the Gwiyomi, which apparently was a YouTube video sensation, “Yând do not hold bèck on the Bacardi, Pinè Colada, and Daiquiri eithyèr, or elsek yâ, my brothàr willk have yur balls in hisk mouth, ya feel me!!?”

The bartender gasped and stuttered, “Um … your brother can down my balls any time he wants to Ma’am,” he stated shakily while examining the ripe Italian tomato beside the horny floozy.

The Itali-Russies, yeah that was completely made up because I’d no clue what to call Italian-Russian people. So lay off and just go along with it. Anyway, the Itali-Russie twins were like Greek Gods s***h Goddesses who spat fire like Russians and talked like pizza s***h pasta-loving Italians. They were biracial butterflies looking for a flower to pollinate, or preferably, a diiick to masturbate. Uhuh, you heard that right. Uh.

She pouted and raised a very suggestive brow, “Hmm, whät do you think brothàr?” she squinted.

“I don’t thinkè sistyer. I just dû,” he glared.

‘Clink…’

Clink … Clink.

Clink! Clink! Clink! went the chiming sound of champagne bottles behind the counter as the bartender fudged Casanova’s mouth, and yes, that’s the male Itali-Russie’s name. Casanova.

“Brothàr! Yè is nagcht finish yet with his shift! Hav soma dignitiii!” Domina squealed with half her body draped over the Formica isle. Her stringed panty all coiled up behind her crack for the world to witness.

“Hhmmmaaarrrnnnggghhhh—!!” Casanova protested with a mouthful of All-American sausage.

“Yè! Make iit quick!” she scandalously shouted, giving the floor a view of her layered lasagnas.

“Hey! Panties down, you slut!” cried a pencil skirt-wearing conservative woman in a desecrated club where fudging bum-o-leys was PG13. She was a supple tulip among horny roses tonight.

Using both hands, Domina gave the conservative old hag two ripe Italian birds. Chirp, chirp!

The old spinster gasped dramatically with hand on chest, as if she was offended to the core of her frayed humanity. She snubbed then sashayed away with arms draped around a beefy manhoe.

Domina eyed the hallowed woman like a hawk and spat the next word with revulsion, “Fica!” which was the ‘C’ word. You knew I couldn’t spell the word on here. They will censure this chapter if I did, EL-OH-EL. Just being creative folks. Heh, heh ^^

“Oh God! Oh Jesus Christ! It’s like … Aagghh! It’s like f*****g a stuffed pizza … Ugh!” the bartender grunted as Casanova sucked him like an Italian vacuum.

“f**k! What the f*****g f**k is this f**k!?” shouted an impatient customer who couldn’t keep his eyes off the cockatoo that disappeared behind Casanova’s wet, succulent and juicy pie hole.

Domina pointed a finger close to the patron’s nose. Just a little push and she’d be practically fudging the man’s nose with her fingertip, “Youè, shut the f**k up, no? Can’t you seè my brothär!? You kno wat…” Domina swerved around the Formica isle to stand behind the counter.

She looked down at her brother, “Hey mofosa, shoo…” she kicked Casanova out of the way.

“Aaahhrrrmmmggghhh~!!” he choked as he continued to suckle on bartender dude’s Bacardi.

“Muv it! Or yè willk pour this Miami Vice on yurä!” Domina screeched at her little brothar.

With the cockatoo not leaving Casanova’s mouth, the two men scuttled sideways like crabs. Hmm … I wonder if they had crabs. Anyway, Casanova hummed “Aaahhrrrmmggghhh!” like there was no way for him to articulate words. Clearly he couldn’t with a hunk of meat in mouth.

Domina’s double Ds spread like jello on the table, “Sö, what can I get yè?” she teased like the tramp that she was, and then winked at the guy who turned into all shades of red. Oh my Lanta.

“Yo hoe puto!” I barked like a cool cucumber outside the hotness that was Club Minxology.

“Hey Matty Boi! How’s you been, how’s you been, huh?” Poncho greeted me like a gangsta.

We did the finger freestyle hand jazz move and shiz, with chest bumping and fist pumping action, “Give it to me Papi! Show me some’a lovin’ Uh!” I fist-pumped and chest-bumped him.

Poncho signaled that I come closer for he meant to whisper something, and so I did. He fiddled two fingers up like they were flapping underneath someone’s yoo-hoo when he said, “There are two Italian-Russians inside.”

Everything in me lit up like Christmas morning, “You the man!” I lightly punched his shoulder.

He punched right back with so little force that I felt the fabric of my shirt move, “You be gay if you keep punching like—”

‘POW’ was his left hook to my face. I spun to the ground, and then screwed my face, “Shiz, man! Are you Popeye now? You should hold your Olives, f**k~!!” I stood up to dust myself.

Poncho signaled that I come over, yet again. This time he fiddled three fingers up like it was flapping underneath someone else’s— yeah, I ain’t gonna spell out the nasty innuendo, “You better get inside broduh. You might just get some love,” Poncho winked as if to encourage me.

I bypassed the long line like I was a celebrity. But then I heard a lady scream her protest at me, which I didn’t really have time for. So um, given my absence in this next scene, I’ll have the narrator do the storytelling for me, EL-OH-EL! Here’s the narrative that followed – just read it:

“What the f**k!?” the lady shouted with open hands like a mad Italian, “We’ve been here since you grew a nut Poncho!” she snorted like a kid who ran out of NyQuil®.

“Shut up Dakota Fanning!” Poncho screamed right back, and then gave the young patron a look of ‘Pain’ like a true Volturi, just like how little Dakota was in the movie.

Little Dakota with a flaming Fanny gasped, “O! How dare you!” she gave him a small finger.

“f**k you too,” Poncho returned the gesture with his hard pinky finger.

It was pimpin’ on high inside Club Minxology. Each step felt like a vibrator against the balls of my feet. Everything was thumpin’ and gyratin’ like Mexican jumping beans. I felt like a burning burrito (cough) extra large (cough) on a hot griddle.

(Side barbs and whispers of incredulity)

Oh no. I ain’t fallin’ for that one again. You already saw my hairy balls, and they connect to my thick salami. I think we’re pretty much acquainted as it is.

(Touching and groping without permission)

Hey~! What the fudge is this! Hands off you pervies~!!

Yeah, that’s right. You can’t touch this~!

(MC Hammer dance)

-___________- zZZ

Fine, I’ll drop it. Jeez. You guys are so hard to please.

“Hey Matty!” called one of the waiters who wore a whorish outfit.

“Yo Ricky! Ricky ring-a-ding-ding! How’s are the balls hanging!?”

“Wet and low, man … wet and low … Come here …” he signaled for me to approach him, “…there’s this German-Italian-Russian-I-dunno twinsies. One of the twins blew me man. He f*****g blew me!”

“Aw … that’s so cute Ricky. I believe she’ll … wait up, a he~??”

“Yeah, a he … there a problem?” he furrowed his bushy brows.

“I thought you were straight, Rick?”

“I thought I was too,” he shrugged.

Oh boy.

“Aw shiz man, here they come,” Ricky scuttled off to leave me.

The smexy twinsies approached me, and might I say they look the same. It’s like looking in the mirra’ dawg! Well, not that I would say that because I ain’t molded from the same cookie cutter as they were, but that’s what one of ‘em would likely say if they were facing each other, and … aw shiz, don’t make me think man! Look at the number of words so far in this chapter. Typing all these letters is exhausting yo! I mean … shiz! You should know this by now. I’m not the thinking person. I can fudge yeah, but thinking? It doesn’t do it for me, you know? Fudge~!

(Zen-like breathing)

Okay, now that I’d calmed down, let me continue. So, well, only difference between them was one had an impressive dongle pressed tightly against his tight meggings, while the other, well … the other had bazongas that I wanna feed on like an old man on Viagra. Ew that’s f*****g gross.

They started conversing in satanic language. I didn’t know what they were yappin’ about, but I was glad that my dangling participle looked like its gon’ get some tanight brah! Yesh! It’s on!

“Give me that shiz!” I swiped two shot glasses with flames on top. Déjà freaking vu anyone?

“Matty~! NUUuurrgghh! You gotta pay for those man, I ain’t got no moolah—!” yelled Colton, who was wearing his red bowtie, and um … yeah, a skimpy black leather bottom. What was wrong with these people? They all looked like skanks tonight.

“Here’s a picture of my weenies,” I gave him a picture of my weenies from one of the many Polaroids I took.

His eyes popped, “On the house, man … just call for me if you want more. I’ll just be—” his voice faded as he tumbled his way to the bathroom. I didn’t think he’d be using the restroom for rest though. Jeez.

I sauntered toward the twinsies with shots in hand. Na, na, na, na, na, everybody talks, everybody talks! Oops, wrong track. That was last chapter (Stop | Skip | Play – Black White & Blue (Treasure Fingers Remix) – Ladyhawke) there, that’s better. This is a good club track yo.

“Credo che questo ragazzo ha un grande cazzo.” [I think this guy has a very big diick] was what she whispered to her twinkie brother. I didn’t understand for shiz. So I just went along with it.

I creased my lovely smexy eyebrows, “Hello to you too … sorry but um, I don’t speak Italian,” I mused like a coy bastard while handing them the shots.

Lady Bosoms with her ginormous double Ds examined my UPS package, “Wow è, you yàv a vehement bulge, yàh? You è monster! Yes?” was how she conducted herself in front of me. At that moment of intimation, I felt all the strands of muscle coil and tighten down south. It was then I realized how stupid I was for barging into Club Minxology without taking care of my ‘business’ first. I was becoming hard … fast. And so I nodded my yes, and so did my other head.

“Daq ist goodt,” She rolled her tongue at the last syllable.

“Hey mistyerr, you wokay?” her twin Tomatillo inquired.

I was dizzy then with no coherent thought in mind, “I’m a bit dizzy, man. Can you guys just—”

“Biiitch! Qvickly! Dà other arm! Let’s take him hommè!”

“Dawn’t caulle me biiitch!” Tomato lady screeched at him.

“c*m ounne biiitch! We got us sum’à diick, and its biiig!”

Oh boy. I think I understood that last part. How could I have been so stupid? I was supposed to fudge someone before coming here, just to keep this situation from happening. Fudgedammit~!

The two Italians towed me and my mutton dagger to their Smart Car® Yeah I’m advertising Smart Cars in this chapter. They paid me good shiz to do it too. This was how I got my money.

My foot stubbed the rim of their small pink car, and it took all of me not to squeal in pain, “Expend … ables two,” I gurgled.

“Eh? What’d yè say sistyer?”

“Non lo so.” [I don’t know.]

“Sta morendo?” [Is he dying?]

“Um, Non lo so,” she shrugged.

“Expendables part two, dammit! Your car! It’s that … Ugh! It’s that small frigging car in the movie!” I heaved in dry breaths.

The one with the bazongas flailed her hands, “Oh, Expendables! Adoro quel film!” [Oh, Expendables! I love that movie!]

The one with the swizzle stick poked his tongue against cheek, “Ooohhmmmauve, Jason Statham e il suo grande cazzo delizioso!” [Ooohh! Jason Statham and his big delicious c**k!]

Their language sounded like voodoo s**t to me, “What are you guys yappin’ about!? Seriously, the Blair Witch Project is so 1999 yo! Aaarrrggghhh … I need ... I need one of you to blow me, now! My heart is racing, Christ…”

The Italian wiener pulled a lever to recline the passenger settee. It pushed back. Whoa! I didn’t know these cars could do that. And so with tender throbbing care, they laid me like a pulsating blond vegetable in their Smart Car®

“Gow aheadà brother,” she permitted.

He unzipped my pants, and within a bat of an eyelash, I found myself growing fatter and thicker in his hot wet mouth. Oh fudge he was really good at giving head, the Italians knew their salami.

He pulled out gagging with spurts of frayed breaths, “Oyà me Pope! Your diiick is like a glowstick in the dark yà. Sistyer! Cazzo! Shut the f*****g lights!” [Sister! f**k! Shut the f*****g lights!]

I didn’t understand much of what he was saying, but I understood clearly what his tight mouth wanted to say. I somewhat complained at how aggressively he took me, yet I found myself amazed by the head that was bobbing in front of me. It appeared that this was his expertise.

I was very ticklish as I pumped his pie hole with my tail pipe. He gagged, and then looked up to give me a smile of content. I smiled back rather awkwardly then motioned for him to continue.

I started petting him like a Dalmatian. His was probably the best head I’d ever gotten. His sister seemed welcoming as she flashed her pearly whites at me. She shifted gears to drive. I wondered where they would take me.

I flushed all thoughts down the drain as I felt my oboe graze the beautiful melody of his deep throat. I badly needed to come for my secondary pacemaker to kick into full gear. With a pop, he pulled out gagging, “Bontà! You really big, no?” [Goodness! You really big, no?] he exclaimed.

“Hey, hey, hey~! Fâggot! Save soma for mè!” growled his sister.

“Eyes on thâ rod, betchi!” I think he meant road when he said rod.

“Vaffanculo!” [f**k you!] I think she meant ‘save some for me’.

(Readers shaking their heads)

What!? I don’t get to see the subtitles. Give this boi a break! Jeez.

“Cazzo! Grr…” [f**k! Grr…] she started clawing behind her. I think she was scared that her brother’s gonna suckle me dry. Aw … sibling rivalry, so so cute.

Tomatillo pulled out gagging, “Io succhiare lui secco, heh,” [I will suck him dry] he murmured.

“Vaffanculo~!!” she shrieked.

Jeez, she got some mouth on that face. I was actually scared to have my flaming banana inside Lady Tomatilla’s sponge cake.

Pop!

He’d let out these popping sounds whenever he pulled out. It was really entertaining to watch.

His ministrations overwhelmed me. I then felt this strong urge to erupt. And so I did as I condensed everything into that one explosive discharge that completely coated his face. It looked like a professional had done a facial on him. He looked so pretty as he glistened under the lights.

“T-thank you,” I breathed my gratitude.

“Grazie!” was how he responded to me.

I wasn’t sure what that meant, “What?”

“O, heh, it means thank you in Italiano.”

“O wow,” I tried my hand on it, “Grazy!”

“No, no-no!” he admonished like the Pope, “Repeat after me, okay?” he smiled like warm honey.

I nodded my assent to follow his lead.

“Gra—zie di nuovo!” [Grazie. Again!]

“See date no bone?” I tried replicating the sound best way I could.

“No. Di nuovo is ‘again’. Okay? Say Grazie. Grazie. Yea? Again.”

“Oh okay. I see. Okay, okay. Grazie. There, how’s that?” I smiled.

“Perfetto!”

“We are here!” extolled Lady Tomatilla. How far a drive was that?

“What’s here?”

She gave me the look of death, “Non abbiamo ancora finito!” [We are not done yet!] (Gulp)

Their colored walls came straight out of a Mario game. It was so colorful. I was in The Mushroom Kingdom! (shameless plug I know … so please support my other book, EL-OH-EL)

Lady Tomatilla sat on the escritoire at the foot of the bed. Weird, why would there be a writing desk at the foot of a bed? Well, I didn’t mind anymore when her naked glory sat on it. She looked like a human hourglass. Her horny brother, who was humping my leg when we got here, had decided to slump on all fours below the said escritoire. He drove his torso between his sister’s suspended legs like how a train would to a tunnel. Um, was this supposed to be a puzzle? He swayed his bony hips at me from left to right. God, he was so weird. What was he on about?

“Fratello, mi devi tre grandi per permettere questo. Ricorda che.” [Brother, you owe me three grand for permitting this. Remember that.]

I resorted to natural means of lubrication. Seeing that there was no bottle of lube in sight, I spat in my hand. I rubbed his crack and scissored, “You ready for me?” I asked as I massaged him.

I looked up not to see God, but to see Lady Bazonga palming her succulent peaches. Her fingers were so scandalous as she navigated every contour from the exposed to the enclosed, “Dio mio.” [Oh my God.] she rasped as she fellated herself like she were cut salmon fillets.

I think I understood what she meant as her eyes rolled in the back of her head.

“Hmm … Please, signore, fottimi ora!” [Hmm … Please, sir, fudge me now!] I didn’t know what he said but I thought it had something to do with me doing something. And so I entered him.

My mushroom fudged his Mario, while my tongue lapped at his sister’s Luigi. I felt like a child playing Super Mario Brothers in the 80s. It was that good I tell ya. Oh my Lanta.

“Oh, bellissima! Tu sei bella!” [Oh, beautiful! You are beautiful!]

Yeah, yeah, yeah, pizza pasta bologna! Jeez. As if I understood a fudging thing they were saying.

It felt so good to be inside him, while my tongue was inside hers. It was like fudging moist and uncooked Schiaffoni pasta that seemed to be getting tighter the harder I fudged. My mouth couldn’t complain either as it lapped at the creamy folds of her sweet, succulent, wet lasagna.

If this ain’t multitasking, I dunno what is. Oh man. I then thought of Collin, and how he’d be an epic fail at this, considering that my wiener was longer than his Hobbit cockatoo. EL-OH-EL!

“What are your names?” I gargled against her wet lasagna as I pummeled his Schiaffoni pasta.

“Later, just do me first. Harder! Faster! I’m—” I think all this fudging made him lose his accent.

“Dannazione!” [Goddammit!] “Ohm … it burns yâ!” was his expression of the pain he was in.

“Sto arrivando!” [I’m coming!] was how his sister wailed her ever glorious chant to whatever the hell it was that she was saying. I understood what she meant when a squirt slapped my nose. Ugh. She was like a broken damn. I was immediately drowned by wave upon wave of release. Mother of fudge, what kind of ovaries did she have? It was like molten, and God I’m drowning!

She aided in my reprieve by bending down to kiss me vigorously. I thought she’d find her own taste gross, but I guess she didn’t. And so with a few more strokes, I generously coated her brother’s hot cavern, “Bello, semplicemente bello.” [Beautiful, simply beautiful] she murmured.

I amorously pulled out of him. The Tomatillo collapsed on his stomach, breathing in every molecule of oxygen into his lungs. I did the same as I sat on my heels. My heart played a steady beat inside my chest. I felt s****l gratification.

“What. Are. Your. Names?” I asked, breathless.

She leapt off the writing desk. He rolled out from below it. They stood with vigor as if strength never left their bodies. I sat further back on my heels as I admired their robustness and virility.

They pointed at each other, and then introduced one another like they were acrobats from Cirque du Soleil.

“Domina.”

“Casanova.”

They exclaimed.

‘Blip, blip, blip…’

“Lesions are treated, and will not leave any visible scarring.”

“Good job. Now, read to me.”

“Should the patient have a complete block at this level of the conduction system, the secondary pacemaker of his heart would be at the AV node. It would fire at forty to sixty beats a minute, which is enough to retain consciousness in the resting state.”

“When will this occur, Doctor?”

“Probably when he reaches puberty; and it is then that his secondary s****l characteristics will kick in. It would also mean the start of his unprecedented penile activity.”

“I see. Thanks, Doctor. You’ve anything else to add to this?”

“Oh, well … his pacemaker is organic so it shouldn’t be a problem. It will be his lifesaver, activated when the conduction system of the heart reaches its threshold.”

“You mean at critical levels?”

“Yes, Doctor.”

“Such as?”

“Sex.”