Shawna Returned Part One By D

07/02/2019

Shawna Returned

Part One

By D.X. Machina

It was a summer night, just like any other. I had gone over to Uptown to hang

out with Shawna and Carol and Steve and anyone else who happened upon their

place; it was a pretty big place, and it seemed like every Carleton undergrad

within fifteen miles showed up on a regular basis.

It was a quiet night. I shared beers with the folks there, and discretely

stared at Shawna. Well, all the straight guys and lesbian girls did, to tell the

truth. She was five feet nine inches of pure sensuality. She was biracial,

bisexual, and by God, I would've given anything to have her walk up to me in her

casual way, bat her beautiful mahogany eyes and ask me to fuck her 'til dawn.

Don't get me wrong, I didn't want a relationship with Shawna, which was

okay--she really didn't want a relationship with anyone. She did have a lot of

sex, but nobody would've called her a slut. She was more in control than a slut.

She was more like the guy who has a lot of action--everyone really respected her

for it.

But she wasn't having sex with me, and I couldn't blame her. I'm out of

shape, and balding, and well, let's face it, if a girl could have her pick of

paramours, I probably wouldn't be in the top 100, unless she got to know me.

And even then, I'd probably be about number ninety-four.

But while I wasn't going to ever hit it with Shawna, she wasn't averse to

being looked at--hell, she practically welcomed it--and she was one of the most

interesting people I knew, and so I still spent a lot of time over there,

drinking random beers and bullshitting about religion and philosophy and

theater.

And then, on a Thursday night, the strangest thing happened. So strange I'm

not quite sure it did happen. Maybe I dreamed it. Maybe I wanted Shawna so bad

that I imagined the whole thing in that split second between the time I got up

and the time I actually left.

But that doesn't explain it. Not at all.

The events of those twenty-four hours happened. They had to. And if they

didn't, well, I have the memoriesthat's good enough.

But the story begins with a wish.

* * *

There were four of us there that night. I was there (obviously). So was

Shawna (if you hadn't guessed). So were Carol (who lived there), and Jeremy (who

didn't, but was Carol's boyfriend, and may as well have). We were up in the

loft, Shawna and Carol were laying on a futon mattress in the middle of the

room, Jeremy and I were sitting on the floor, Carol was bitching that she

couldn't find any decent pot in the Cities, and I commiserated, even though I've

never tried the stuff (I don't believe in it, everyone I know who tries it gets

stupid, at least for a while); we were all listening to Ani DiFranco, and Jeremy

and I got into a long and detailed discussion of the relative merits of Not a

Pretty Girl and Dilate, and we talked about the problem with the destruction of

smaller radio stations in favor of corporate megaplexes (I argued for

deregulation, the other three for more regulation; they won), and it rolled

around to about eleven, and Kari was coming over, and Jeremy and Carol were

going to go on a walk, and I had to work the next morning, so as Jeremy and

Carol headed out, I said my good-byes as well, Shawna headed to the restroom,

and I headed for the back exit, because it was closer to my car.

What happened next is still amazing to me. I said a little wish, as I stepped

over the pillow and up onto the futon mattress on my way to the door. I wished

that I could find a way to be with Shawna, for only twenty-four hours. Just a

way to touch her, to be near her. I sighed. It was lust, not love, but it was a

good, honest lust, and I knew we'd both be nice about it. I sighed again. I took

another step.

Suddenly, I began to shake, uncontrollably. The world began to spin. I tried

to cry out, but I couldn't. Then, suddenly, it was like all the pleasure centers

in my mind abruptly lit up, and then faded slowly; a warm, happy feeling. I

abruptly dropped to the floor.

I don't know how long I lay there, unaware of the world. I think it was only

about a minute, although it could've been a year. It was sort of like vomiting

when you're drunk--the world condenses down to you, and only you, and anything

outside of you is superfluous, and you ignore it. As I sluggishly regained my

bearings, I tried to stand up. I slowly got to my feet, and stopped there, my

eyes wide.

I was on the futon, yes. And the futon lay in front of me, with the door

beyond it. It was just like before. Except the futon which before had been about

six feet long now stretched out for over a quarter mile in front of me. The

ceiling, which was always a bit low, now lay higher than the top of the

Metrodome. Hell, higher than the top of ten Metrodomes.

For a second, I wondered if anyone had spiked my beer with something, but I

dismissed the thought--I didn't feel bad, anymore, the room wasn't spinning, the

walls were rock solid, if distant, and besides, what the fuck kind of drug makes

you shrink? (I don't know, but if it exists, they'll be banning it soon).

Besides, while most of the people who entered the door of this house had used a

recreational drug or two in their day, they weren't the type of people who would

trick someone into taking them. They weren't that stupid, and they weren't that

cruel.

So I faced facts--I had shrunk. Shrunk to bug size, as near as I could tell.

This was amazing.

But not so amazing as Shawna, who was entering the room.

I first became aware that Shawna was returning as the ground I stood on began

to shake, just a little. Then a lot. I heard a tremendous sound from behind me,

like an enormous pile driver striking the earth every half-second. I turned to

face it, and my heart beat swiftly.

She rose up above the black-covered pillow behind me, her perfect, bare,

cinnamon-brown legs rising triumphantly skyward, into the short floral skort she

wore. Above that were her breasts (God, gigantic even when I was full sized),

and above those, her beautiful face.

She surveyed the room like a Goddess; I had the urge to drop to a knee in

submission to her authority, but I suppressed it; I was much more worried about

the fact that she had yet to see me.

I cried out: "Shawna! Down here! Please, look down here! On the mattress!"

But she seemed not to even notice. Instead, she picked up her well-worn copy of

Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail, and walked over towards me.

She was going to lie down and read until Kari got there. Made sense. After

all, Kari lived out in Woodbury, it was a bit of a trek for her, and Jeremy and

Carol were out the door, and I--

--I was down here. But she didn't know it. Instead, she stepped over her

pillow, and I saw the sole of her mighty foot, rising like a vast, beautiful,

lethal warehouse, obscuring the light of the lamp as it swung in a puissant arc

towards me.

In a flash, I saw myself, pressed into the fabric of the futon by that

wonderful pad, crushed beneath the mountain of womanhood who rose above me, my

ribs cracking, my heart exploding, my mind being compressed into Jell-O. There

were worse ways to die, I thought.

But I didn't want to die. I wanted, very much, to live. So as the heel of the

foot began descending towards me, I ran towards the pillow. The foot crashed

down inches behind me, and the rush of displaced air flattened me.

I rolled over and looked up at her as she walked to the end of the futon, and

turned around. She was gorgeous. Slowly, tantalizingly, she lowered herself to

her knees. Slowly, sensually, she began to lay herself down. And she did, with

her head above me, the book on the pillow above and behind me, and her glorious

breasts in front of me.

I looked up at her in awe. I tried to call out again, but my voice was choked

off. She was looking at the book, her enormous tongue occasionally licking her

thick, supple lips. I gasped for air, and then looked down her body, a view

which was, quite simply, a view of two magnificent breasts.

Shawna has the nicest breasts of any woman I know. They are big--she wears a

D Cup--but they're not sagging, and they're not so big that they begin to become

disgusting. They're just about perfect breasts, and almost all of them were

peeking out of Shawna's summer skort, which was, come to think of it, a pretty

immodest dress when she lay like she was laying.

I walked towards her breasts.

I didn't realize what I was doing until I was almost upon them. They were

beautiful, the same cinnamon-brown as the rest of her, smooth and supple, and on

Shawna's scale, just half an inch from me.

I looked up, to where her breasts met her sternum, and wondered to myself

what Shawna would think if she found me in her cleavage.

I hoped she'd wait a second before she executed me.

I walked forward and stepped over the top of the skort. Shawna's breasts

surrounded me.

I drank in her scent--not a perfume, but her lovely smell. And slowly,

carefully, I reached out to touch her right breast.

It yielded softly, and I began to stroke it. I began to walk around the

outside edge of her bra, trailing my fingers along her firm-soft mammary. I had

reached the front, when I suddenly, the world began to shift.

It was like being caught in a runaway elevator, only backwards. What had been

sky abruptly became wall, what had been an entrance to Shawna suddenly became

the ceiling, and was suddenly covered by a flower print.

Shawna had stood up.

I found myself lying now on the front part of Shawna's right breast, my feet

braced against the cup of her bra. I braced myself, because I knew what was

coming. Shawna began walking.

Now, I told you Shawna's breasts don't sag, and I don't want you to think I

lied to you. They really don't. But they are big, and they do bounce, which is

delightful when you're playing volleyball with her, but not so much when you've

been shrunk to less than an inch tall and you're lying on them.

Okay, you got me. It is pretty delightful, in an earthquake-like way.

We were walking down the stairs, and I could only surmise that Kari had

arrived.

This supposition was borne out a few seconds later, when I heard Shawna say

"Hi Kar!" Actually, I didn't so much hear her say it as feel her say it, her

voice ripping through me as she cried her hello. Then, the two girls hugged.

I need to pause here to describe Kari. Kari is a beautiful girl in a very

unconventional way. She's tall, and she's got a nice figure, which is decorated

with piercings in places that I think probably hurt, although I'm not a woman so

I can't say for sure. What little hair she leaves on her head is dyed a nice,

bright, festive green. She's got a tattoo or seven, and she's got pretty nice

breasts, although if you quote me on that, I'll deny ever saying it, and indeed,

criticize any man who would ever deign to notice her breasts, loudly.

Kari's also a lesbian; I note it only because it bears on the story.

At any rate, the women hugged their hello, and I found myself crushed between

Shawna's right breast and Kari's left. It was a delightful, if life-threatening

moment. Soon, it passed, and just in time, as I think I would have lost all my

ribs had the hug lasted a moment or two longer. We headed back into the house.

I was starting to get used to lying on Shawna's breast; it was relaxing. I

could feel every breath she took, enjoy the ripples of her laughter rumbling

softly through her mammary. I think I could have lay there forever and been

happy.

At some point, Shawna walked upstairs. By this time, I was soporific, and

although I probably should have seen what was coming next, I didn't.

I didn't see it until the floral-print sky above me abruptly slid past me,

and dropped, exposing the overhead light in Shawna's room. I could see her

looking ahead, and I turned to see Kari, quickly approaching.

And then, the lights went out.

I sensed that this meant nothing good. Shawna and Kari had messed around a

few times--I think, deep down, Kari loved Shawna, but neither of them would ever

admit it. So this wasn't really a surprise.

But it wasn't a good situation for me to be in. I realized that as I felt

Kari creep up to Shawna, felt Shawna's breasts begin to compact. Felt Shawna's

bra drop away. I scrambled up the breast, running for my life.

Then, suddenly, I was being kneaded into that breast by a hand. I'm pretty

sure it was Kari's, but by this point, it didn't matter. It was a wonderful,

sensuous feeling. Like getting a full body massage on both sides at once by a

master masseuse. I don't think either woman noticed me. I hope not--they seemed

pretty into the moment.

At this point, things became confusing. Now, I'll be honest--I really don't

know anything about what lesbians do in private that can't be seen on a cheap

porn flick (and, given the depictions of heterosexual sex in those things, I'm

betting they're at least a little wrong.) And, quite frankly, having lived

through this experience, I can't say I know a lot more. After all, the lights

were out, and after a while, I lost track of where I was on whose body. All I

know is that Kari and Shawna were in earnest.

As for me, all I can say is that it was very, very fun.

* * *

I awoke languidly. I knew, deep down, I needed to be at work, but for some

reason, I thought where I was at that moment was better.

I slowly rose, and looked around. I was in a mass of brown curls. A heady,

heavy odor surrounded and blanketed me. I stood, and realized where I was, as I

looked at the cinnamon-colored skin that comprised an immense vagina.

I looked across the room, and saw Kari, pulling on her panties, and--my God,

she dyed that end, too. Wow. That's something else.

I looked at Kari with appreciation. It could've been worse, Skyler could've

been the one that Shawna hooked up with. I don't think I would've had fun had it

been a guy Shawna got with that evening, and the odds were probably better.

At any rate, as Kari pulled on her pants, I looked at Shawna anew. I wondered

if I could get any kind of a rise out of her at all. And so I descended into the

grotto.

I was looking for something specific, and found it, bumpy and beautiful. I

began to touch it, rubbing slowly. This was probably as close to sex with Shawna

as I'd ever get--I hoped she would enjoy it.

Five minutes later, I was rewarded by a shifting, rumbling sound from deep

within her. I intensified, using my whole bod y to massage her. As I put more

and more into it, the rumbling from within her intensified more. Suddenly, a

huge treelike object moved on top of me, knocking me far down into her vagina.

It was Shawna herself. She was bringing herself to climax.

A torrent of the fruits of our collective labor washed over me, carrying me

out of her vagina and onto the bed. I gasped for air. Now, I've had good sex

before. But that was an experience I will never replicate.

After a while, Shawna got up to go take her shower, which I figured I would

do well to avoid. I had a decision to make.

Should I try to tell Shawna what happened? Not all of it--dear Lord, no--but

the basics? Or should I just settle myself and enjoy this moment? After all, I

had seen more of Shawna in the last eight hours than I had ever in my wildest

dreams thought I would, and I didn't want to go back to our "platonic"

friendship. At least, not quite yet.

I made my decision when Shawna returned. She entered the room quietly, and

after closing the door behind her, dropped her towel.

She was--what, resplendent? That's as good a word as any. With the water

shining off her and her hair slicked back, her breasts hanging free and

glorious--she was indescribably beautiful.

And no, I was not ready for this time to end.

I just had to figure out where I wanted to stow away.

The answer to that question was at once apparent. Shawna dug into her dresser

drawer and flipped her undergarments towards the bed, before looking into her

closet for something to wear that wouldn't get her into too much trouble at

work. As luck would have it, a circus-tent sized pair of pink lace panties

landed a few feet from me. I decided that they would be my home away from home.

I reached them as Shawna picked them up.

I watched as she put one perfect leg after another through the holes, and

pulled me skyward, towards her womanhood. As soon as she had completed her

adjustments, I pulled myself up into her forest of hair, and as the light from

the outside world dimmed, I pulled myself inside of her.

I hoped I wouldn't cause any problems.

To Be Continued

 

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