"Hoooooh"

     He rolled from her and dropped on the berth. His back was to the soft and delicate stuff he couldn't fathom. His eyes were feasting on the ceiling he wasn't actually seeing; he was drown in throbbing thoughts. He didn't want to look into the eyes of the Nymph. He did have no idea why he was avoiding it. Probably he didn't want to have himself in the odds he had recently snapped out of. He couldn't arrive at a sane conclusion. So many a question wielded in his thorax. He had no idea which to accommodate firstly then or which to ignore. All that mattered was that, quite the justice is ought to be made. His hoisted heart browsed the marred motives locked up in the act. He tried to sort out an answer to no avail. At her arrival, why had she decided to have sex with him without a rethink? Had she been nursing the feeling before he did come to the world of fantasy? Probably she was having a crush on him. He couldn't really be sure. He didn't want to be. All he needed were some answers. All he wanted was soothing his raging instinct. Not more than that. Of course he would make the pain known and the locks sewn.

       He caught a hold of the form of the ceiling he had been peering at absentmindedly. He could say that so many a thing in that world of fantasy were so different. He was sure that they did have a link to the earth. Probably twas a civilization ahead of Earth's or lagging behind the Earth's. He couldn't be sure. All he could make of the ceiling was what was looked like a gold. Many arts were etched in it. Like the arts of a sculptor. Quite the numbers of shapes were seeped in its consciousness. Twas alluring. It helped him think stray for a while. It helped him abscond from the odds of the moment he had just snapped outta. He didn't want to return to that moment. It could make confetti of his mental Ken. Then at a bewitched time, the ceiling metamorphosed. Twas white at a point, then red, black, purple, orange, changing the figures of animals etched in it. Like leopards, octopus, sea-serpent, Elephant, then it showed the etching of the Nymph in white background. The etching of the Nymph was an apt portrayal of her present state. Like what she looked like at that moment. Stark naked, with voluptuous boobs and dripping juice. He had no choice than to look away from the ceiling.

        He had wanted to ask her about the ceiling and how possible twas for it to change in such manner before it went stray and he couldn't help the view anymore. His instinct was wet. His erection was awake again. He needed to make it go to sleep. But he had no idea which thought would help him attain that. His thoughts were prettily confined at that moment. His thoughts we made into confetti. He was fighting a salient stance for them. He couldn't really be sure what to do. What to think and what not to think. But what he did know surely was that he wasn't going to look at the Nymph laying down in bed beside him. He didn't care what meaning she might made from it. It didn't matter to him. But he wasn't going to have to walk that process over. He needed to breathe. He knew he needed that and did go for it. He caught sight of what would aid his recent expenditure. Twas comely and fun. A blazing lamping in the heart of the wall of the room. Wonders would never cease to sway in rustic rhythm in such a world of fantasy.

      He made himself knuckle under a fact. That was the best he could do. He needed to quit pruning lanky lies and serving it on the platter of supposed intelligence to him. Of course he did love the sex. Of course he did enjoy it. She was matter-of-factly skillful. She was evenly more than what he had thought her to be. She was heavenly. When he had felt her in himself. He had wanted to explode. He had wanted to shatter. He had felt some sassy surges taunting his viens. She did walk him outta sanity. He had no idea how he had survived the urge. He had rolled over from her to having his back on the berth because he wanted to catch some bounty breath. The poring pleasure was suicidal. He couldn't help but ignore for the meantime. He couldn't help but abscond. He couldn't help but try to figure out what he was doing. What he wasn't getting rightly. What he needed to buckle down upon. His eyes stripped up the felon flames of the blazing torch caressing his consciousness. He had no idea since when it had been there. He hoped twasn't a question which would be too much to ask. He tried wielding his words. The syllabic spells charmed his thorax and he would puke the alakazam, but she wouldn't him.

       She climbed him again as though she was mounting a horse. Of course it was against his will, but of course he must be gentlemanly enough. He didn't want to push her away from over him. He wanted to get over with the tormentor. He had no idea when and how to do that. She wouldn't even bring her mouth closer to his as she mounted him. She grasped his erection, fiddled with it for some moments and fixed it into her well! Then she grabbed his two hands and placed each on her boobs. There was something stranger about it. The size of the boobs had changed as well as the size of his palms. He couldn't say whether larger or thinner. But he was sure that the new development was for aiding the appropriate grasp and squeezing of the tits. Then she began riding him. Ah! He was her horse. And she was shouting. He couldn't make meaning of what she was saying. Twas as though she was whining her waist on him. Like she was twerking with his erection buried in her well. And he didn't want it to stop. He had never wanted it to start, then why would he want it to stop. He gave in to her as he tried to be sane. Then came an intrusion:

        "Time's Up!"

       He turned to look towards the door with blinding sight. Damn Poseidon! He could scream WHY NOW!