Virgin Fruit

Climactic Accidents

She'd never done anything like this before...

Palms clenched and clammy, she tugged at her dress in the elevator shaft thinking maybe she should've gone with a little less skin and a lot more optifiber – the thinner-than-paper material that hugged her figure, slowly rotating through an assortment of colors depending on body-heat and muscle-tension. (It was currently shifting into the realm of neon-pink, practically screaming of nervousness and uncertainty – it being specifically designed to push the wearer out of their comfort zone.) The brawny bouncer running the elevator smirked under his beard at the squealing color that covered her, then looked away. He'd seen that shade plenty of times before – but usually not on a girl who was braving the venue alone. Even the guy with his head buried in his date's neck and breasts caught the gleaming pink from the corner of his eyes and was drawn to it despite his hands being full. He smiled perversely before his date had to grab his chin and pull it back to where it belonged: nestled between her plenteous double-d's.

Korana veered her eyes from the lusty scene (that added an embarrassing flush of lavender to her wardrobe) and tried to cool her nerves, sneaking a peek at her hardly visible b-cups and fluffing them up to create cleavage where there really wasn't any.

As a distraction, she counted the fluctuations in the shaft's decent,  trying to decide how many floors they'd gone down while keeping her optifiber from doing what it was meant to: pushing her boundaries by revealing her inhibitions.  From the street, the underground fet-club was entirely undetectable. After the ninth variation in hum that she counted (each one representing a floor) she began to understand why. It wasn't until the fifteenth when she started to feel the bass from the music course through her heels and up her thighs. Her body relaxed in a shower of sudden warmth right before the elevator door lifted into the ceiling, her salivating associates stumbling through the entranceway in a tangle of limbs to disappear into the gyrating crowd.

"Let's go, legs."

The bouncer called her by her most noticeable attribute with a cocky grin, and she tugged on the hem of her dress a little more – it shifting into a deeper pink now, bordering a red that involuntarily announced her growing arousal from the sight of so many grinding bodies.

Squeezing through moist, hot flesh, she shoved herself into a world she'd only ever imagined, pheromones so thick she had a hard time breathing without getting wet. She felt that familiar rush of nervousness tighten her muscles again, unsure of what she was supposed to do,  and her pink glow returned like a beacon in a sea of dark purples and neon greens. Curious, wanting hands that were intrigued by her shine reached for her as she passed. Men and women alike treated her nerves to the tease of their fingertips, but she kept moving, uncertain of her decision to come to this club in the first place. What if she saw someone she knew? What if someone dosed her with something and she woke up in an alley somewhere, used like a rag to wipe off sweaty genitals and then thrown out with the trash? ...She shouldn't be here, she thought. She should leave now before something happened she'd regret – something she could never take back...

Suddenly searching for a means to flee, the yellow "X" of the exit-symbol on the other side of the dance floor was like the promise of fresh air to a girl who was drowning. So she ignored the dozens of hands grabbing at her hips and sliding off her breasts to craft an escape, breaths heavy with the return of the deep red of arousal pouring over her curves.

Her eyes betrayed her intentions as she'd peek through their corners at mouths groaning with climactic screams and eyes that would catch hers right as their orgasms would peak. Many of the men wore illuminating masks, accentuating their penetrating stares, but hardly a thing else. The women ranged from tiny to titanic – fully covered in materials hardly as thick as paint with the only openings they harbored for pleasure or breath. From voluptuous to nubile, their bodies' curves were wardrobed in liquescent fingers that slid seductively over their forms, constantly shifting in design. It was a sensory-overload fantasy turned claustrophobic fever-dream. It became even more difficult for her to breathe, and she couldn't tell if the inside of her thighs were wet with sweat or the nectar from her virgin fruit...

Her dress was up so high on her hips that fingers were getting snagged in her transparent, breathable panties. She wasn't sure if she was imagining it, but she swore she caught a glimpse of her optifber losing its color entirely, becoming closer to the invisible sheen of her undergarment with every step that pushed her through more panting bodies. The exit was only a hundred feet away now – but she'd have to get by the giant speaker that blocked it, not to mention the heaping orgy of human pretzels entangled at its base--

"Korana! ...Korana!"

Nononono, please, no...

She pretend not to hear the young man calling her name. And she pretended not to know it was the same young man she overheard talking about this place at her friend's house party – the guy she secretly wished she'd see...

She sped up through the crowd, her dress now halfway disappeared from the top to nearly her hips.  Putting her arm over her exposed breasts, she could feel her heart pounding under them. She might've heard his voice again but didn't have the courage to turn back; not with her dress disappearing right out from under her... She wasn't sure what was happening...but she could hardly breathe and she needed air – and release from the tantric pressures blooming inside.

The speakers' intense boom as she drew near it, along with her escalating blood-pressure, nearly caused her to lose consciousness. Desperate hands grasping for a disappearing fabric clutched at her legs and ass from the orgasmic pile of people she stepped over. Her legs spread in giant strides and tongues and fingers brushed against her through her invisible under-coverings as her knees trembled, trying with every ounce of haste she could gather to get her somewhere she could finally breathe. Her body tingled with warmth and her vision blurred as she reached for her salvation:  the exit elevator that was now only a few feet away.

Her hands found the activation panel and it opened the door, her head swimming in sensation and excitement she didn't know how to handle. Stumbling inside, she slammed against the back wall, garments entirely transparent now other than her glowing, neon-blue heels. She pressed her back against the cold metal to try and keep from collapsing and took in a breath just as her body shuttered and the elevator door started to close. She was aware just enough through the flood of pleasurable release to catch the young man's speechless expression as he watched her slide down to her ass; toes pointing, knees spreading, mouth gaping with exploding pleasure.

It was him. ...He'd seen her. He'd seen her completely lose herself, trip over her own feet and cum in her attempt to flee, entirely exposed and out of control.

Before now, she'd never even been naked in front of someone before...

She wondered if he was as turned on by seeing her as she was...

When her eyes stopped rolling and the door fully shut, she found the composure to take in a few steady breaths – and looked up to realize she wasn't alone. Her dress started to regain a shade of soothing aqua-marine in swirls like smoke that slowly covered her virgin body.

"First time, huh?" The bouncer was an attractive one – not like the ape that escorted her down – and appealing in how cool he stood looking down on her.

Her aqua-marine turned to a familiar lavender...

"Here..." He reached in his pocket and pulled out his electronic calling-card. "If you ever want to..." he chuckled, "cum again... I'll be sure you don't have to wait in line." He looked her up and down, intrigued by her being so coy about her experience. It was a rare thing in his line of work.

Her thighs had the virility of buttered spaghetti, but she somehow managed to find enough strength to begin to stand. He helped her up.

Pulling down at her now cool-blue dress, she pushed her hair back over her shoulders. "How about next Friday?"

He smiled.

Embarrassed a little still, so did she.

–CM

Art by Elianeck on Deviantart.com