Chapter 7

“Why didn’t you warn me about how freaking big he is?” Fredi gasped with rather genuine surprise. “He’s huge ... just like the schoolgirl gossip of big hands equals big cock sized huge, but even bigger. It’s a monster, I can’t even get my fingers all the way around it!”

“Well it takes two hands to handle a Whopper, and if you’re not woman enough to handle the job then move out of the way so I can see how much of it I can swallow!” Phyl muttered, her mouth already stretching open in preparation to devour my cockhead, or at least the first few inches of it.

Ok, I’m not really huge, huge ... a bit over seven inches only in length, but it’s admittedly unusually thick from tip to base. Rather like the barrel of a rather friendly cannon or siege sized battering ram. It’s not a sexual experience that women tend to forget or become nonchalant about afterwards. An old girlfriend once compared having vaginal intercourse with me to being almost like the experience of childbirth, albeit rather somewhat more enjoyable. I think she was kidding ... maybe. Once back in college a prospective would-be partner in coitus caught a last second glimpse of my erection just as her panties were sliding down past her knees and her scream of shocked surprise sobered us both up. She mumbled something that vaguely resembled an apology while grabbing for her jeans and then she skedaddled. She made something of an excuse over coffee a few days later that her lady parts were a bit tight and constricted down there and that a ride on my particular magic pony would probably result in a trip to the emergency room for stitches afterwards.

I kept my disagreement of that prediction silent. The vagina is an adaptable and resilient orifice, assuming that proper foreplay occurs beforehand ... and perhaps a generous application of Astroglide as well. Her loss; I soon found other playmates.

As for this early, early morning’s fun, Phyl and Fredi’s jeans had come down barely a moment after our cave tent had gone up. Already my cock was coming up as well even before my own jeans had joined theirs. Fredi won the race to grab my cock first while Phyl had paused to kiss me first, now as a lover instead of just a close intimate friend. Having won the race, the rather surprised geologist was at something of a loss to know just how to handle this rather oversized bit of strata and relinquished her prize to her mocha skinned rival.

Phyl knew exactly how to handle my particular slab of prime beef and in an instant had a good half of it into her mouth and wedged tightly up to the back of her throat.

“Watch and learn baby sister,” she hoarsely sputtered as she lifted her head up for just a moment to catch a quick deep breath, “this baby’s going all the way down, but it’s going to take a minute or two.” Admittedly, it took perhaps four minutes, or even a bit longer but like a snake she stretched open her jaws and somehow relaxed her throat enough to allow my cock free (but rather constricted) passage downwards until true to her pledge her nose was pressed tight against my shaved crotch and my pubic bone.

I couldn’t tell if Fredi was actually learning anything from the demonstration, as I’d grabbed her hips and guided them sitting over my face so that I could lick out her clit. It was only moderately surprising to discover that my rock girl was completely shaved smooth, and recently too, with only the slightest hints of emerging stubble anywhere on the lips. Even the insides of the folds of her outer lips were baby smooth as well, a good indication that someone (undoubtedly Phyl) had attended to this intimate job herself. It certainly made for a more enjoyable eating experience and it didn’t take long for Fredi to start to cum, although with her legs mashed against the side of my head squashing my ears muted the cries rather considerably.

“Don’t even think about cumming yet!” Phyl gasped, right as she correctly sensed my body tensing up in preparation for orgasm. Just to make sure that I didn’t pop she grabbed the base of my cock hard and squeezed it tight. She had slightly longer fingers than Fredericka and I think that the tip of her middle finger might have stretched around enough to reach her thumb, but not by more than a millimeter or so. Once she was sure that no premature eruption was likely to occur, she transferred the attention of her mouth and tongue to my balls and began a rather long and exhaustive oral examination of them.

Fredi, having enjoyed her first orgasm, was now quite ready to enjoy some other fun and slid herself off from my face so that she could lay down next to me with her mouth now licking the sides of my prick, starting at the base so that her tongue dueled with Phyl’s and gradually working its way upwards to the head. With my mouth now free, I reached out and grabbed one of Phylicity’s feet and briefly gave the toes a quick licking. She’s horrifically ticklish. Squawking in mock outrage, she rescued her sensitive feet and wrangled her own moist crotch over my mouth to give my tongue something more useful to lick.

Being about the same height that I am gave her mouth access to my cock and testicles while in a 69 position, or even better still ... access to Fredi’s already well lubricated cunt as she then assisted her girlfriend up to her knees to then mount herself upon my rigid cock.

“Age before beauty,” Phyl giggled as she bent forward enough to help guide my cock into her friend’s dripping snatch while alternating licking her breasts.

“Pearls before swine,” Fredi giggled, gyrating her hips slowly as she slid down taking my cock progressively an inch at a time downwards until at last our hip bones meshed. Then when fully impaled she slowly ground her hips in slow circles and bent forward to grasp both of Phyl’s breasts in her hands as their eager mouths met to kiss.

Fredi was tight, but not excessively so, but with my mouth full of Phyl’s clit and Fredi’s vaginal muscles pulsing with her gyrations, it wasn’t going to take me very long to cum, and that had been Phyl’s clever plan from the start, as I discovered right after the last pulses of my first discharge. She rolled quickly off of my mouth onto her back and pulled Fredi towards her, guiding the cum-filled snatch right over her eager tongue.

The women adjusted themselves into a 69 leaving me free to maneuver myself onto my knees, so that my wet oozing cock could alternate between Fredi’s mouth and into (just barely inside the lips) of Phyl’s already well lubricated cunt. To further tease her I just let my cockhead rub around her lips and over her clit, rubbing it slowly to lovingly torment her while Fredi’s tongue licked over and around it on top.

I’m pretty sure that Phyl came at least twice before I took pity on her and finally submerged my penis entirely inside of her, but with her mouth entirely full frantically eating out her lover’s semen-filled cunt, only a series of muted grunts actually emerged, at least until Fredi eventually lifted herself off Phyl’s mouth to take a brief rest.

Phyl’s cunning (or is it cunt-ing) plan was to let me shoot first in Fredi, so that she could enjoy the second round lasting much, much longer ... and harder. Actually, it worked. My mocha-skinned security boss had been waiting for this moment for years and she wanted it to last. Although she had slightly wider hips than Fredi, her vaginal wall was slightly tighter and only slightly relaxed even as I began to fuck her harder and more fiercely, as she grunted and moaned for more, more, more.

We changed positions twice with Phyl getting on her knees with Fredi licking underneath us, and then awhile later back on her back with her ankles practically up to her ears above her shoulders as Fredi licked my balls from behind. That finally did the trick and a bit-too-tight or not, I finally exploded again and pretty much collapsed into an exhausted heap. Fredi got her turn now to do some housecleaning with her tongue to lick us both neat and more or less dry, but even with two dueling tongues a-wagging I couldn’t quite manage another erection.

Grudgingly, they allowed me a few hours of sleep until I woke up sometime mid-morning to find a pair of eager mouths trying once more to bring my cock back to life, rather more successfully this time. I’ve always needed my sleep, preferably the full eight hours, but today five would have to do. The ladies each got what they were after and by the time we fixed a hasty hot lunch and packed up the tent it was well into afternoon.

The emergency cavern route had pre-prepared camps at about four hour hiking intervals and it was evening (at least up at the earth’s surface) when we reach the first one. We were already a little behind schedule and we’d rather optimistically planned to skip this first site and go for another four hours to the next one, but even Phyl who was in the best physical condition of our trio was dragging her feet and she scampered to pitch the camp tent and start blowing up the air mattress immediately upon arrival. Fredi stripped down to take a warm splash bath in the ever-running cavern stream, which at this point had widened into something of a deep swimmable pond, rather like Love Beach but without any actual beach other than a narrow ledge of rock just wide enough there to sit on. Phyl joined her not long afterwards, putting their wet clothes out to dry for tomorrow. The water here was thermally warmer, but not quite lobster boiling temperature.

For now, I kept my damp clothes on and started up the camp stoves to heat up a few packages of dehydrated sawdust blocks that nominally advertised themselves as containing stew mixes. Just add water and boil. I did, but the results were dubious. They actually tasted alright just as long as you didn’t examine the actual contents too much. It was filling (in more ways than one – designed to keep the consumer quite constipated until off of a mountain, or in our case, out of the virtually virgin cavern eco-system) and with everything needed to sustain life under vigorous activity. Still no one wanted seconds. For dessert there was pudding in a squeeze tube but for the life of me I couldn’t tell you what flavor it was even if at gunpoint. No one wanted seconds of that either.

Today’s spelunking tour was mostly a downhill and rather gentle one with no significant technical climbing features. We just followed the stream mostly along rock pathways but at a couple of points we’d had to enter the water to wade and even swim through several sets of caverns. The water was hotter and even the walls were warm and steamy, but it’s always annoying to hike in wet boots and clothes.

After dinner the ladies each wanted massages to loosen up the tight muscles from the long hike that the evening swim had further tightened. By the time they’d had relaxed enough for sex to even become an option Phyl was already starting to gently snore and when I covered Fredi with a blanket snuggled next to her, she dropped right off to sleep as well. That seemed like a good enough idea to copy so I turned off the LED lantern and in the total pitch dark fell off to slumberland a few minutes later.

It took us about three and a half days in total to make the egress from the caverns and after the inertia of our first day of trekking we managed to keep to the intended schedule of eight hours and passing three camps per day. After that second camp it became all uphill, leaving behind that still downwards flowing stream.

At the very lowest descent point of the trek, Phyl stopped for just a moment to point out a rock that the emergency preparation climbing team had left. A rock not from these underground strata but from half a world away, a rock from Mount Everest, taken from the Hillary Step by one of our resident mountaineers who had surveyed and helped to prepare this route.

“We’re about 5600 meters here at the deepest part, almost as deep as Mt. Denali is high,” she whispered in the quiet gloom as she picked up the fist sized rock and then gently placed it back onto the cavern floor. “Just makes you full of wonder, being at one of the deepest places anyone has ever travelled too. Now with my vacation time next year I need to dive in a sub to the bottom of the Marianas Trench, so I can be the only person who has ever been to both the bottom and the top of the world!”

The trip heading upwards to the surface wasn’t as challenging as climbing that famous Alaskan mountain, mostly. On average the route had mostly minimal inclines, often only about 10-15 degrees upward slopes, but there were several other steeper passages of 45 degrees that either had shallow man-made steps carved into the floor of the drier passages or else had fixed rope hand-holds along the walls that we could grasp and pull ourselves ever-upwards. The Littlejohn team had left very little to chance when they surveyed this route.

There were however three ‘technical’ climbing sections that took some careful planning and execution to ascend. Each had prefixed climbing ropes for us, complete with harnesses, fixed hand-ascenders and even established rock-driven pinions in the cliffsides for us to use as footholds. Each of these rock faces were nearly vertical and the worst one, the third and final rock wall of over 600 feet even had a slight forward slope to it so that our feet were free, our entire harnessed bodies swaying about unsecured in the air. At this last cliff however we didn’t have to use the ropes except to just hold on tight. Phyl handled the climb up with ease and then used a small motor that had been provided to haul us each up in a harness, one at a time. It wasn’t fun, but it was actually pretty safe.

From this last ‘Step’, as climbers would call those cliffs, the new set of tunnels heading upwards were reasonably gradual and smooth surfaced ... and seemed in the gloom of our LED lanterns to be disturbingly man-made. Miles and miles and miles of dusty passages, nearly entirely bone dry and with noticeably staler air than below. Phyl pushed us down these pathways faster, sometimes at more of a hurried nervous shuffle than a measured hiking walk.

“I don’t like this bit,” she muttered once when I asked, just making conversation as we trudged onwards and upwards. Fredi could tell at a glance that the rock here was man-made but she wasn’t finding many traces of toolwork. At even brief stops to examine the stonework Phyl yanked on her hand to press her onwards, seemingly in haste.

“Why? It’s definitely man-made, at least along this stretch, something of an underground highway even,” Fredi muttered, stopping again for a moment to shine her lamp closer to the passageway and even run her hands against the stone sides until again Phyl prodded her onwards.

“The escape survey crew that took me down here on the practice run last year wouldn’t talk about it ... just said that they didn’t dig most of these tunnels after the last step and told me to hurry and not dawdle down here. They practically ran some parts of this route, including one stretch we’ll pass after the next campsite ... which they advised me not to use, if possible or practical. Why ... I don’t fucking know, but they said it even gave the Littlejohn ‘twins’ the creeps and I didn’t like it either. Just made my entire skin and spine crawl.”

Fredi didn’t dawdle after that and we reached the next camp about an hour later and although it was evening and we’d done our planned eight hours, everyone was in the mood to keep going almost immediately. The camp was at a nook just a few yards inside of a crossroad of tunnels, all seeming man-made and identical to the one we were following. It was more than a little disturbing, and even the obvious thick dust on the ground both passages offered little comfort, but the only occasional footmark was from a modern hiking boot. I’d kept looking for something out of the ordinary anyway.

We stopped for about five minutes just to suck down a few squeeze tubes and packets of hiker friendly goo, cold and swallowed fast. At least the applesauce packet tasted decent.

We tried to walk faster for the next four hours but we were all getting quite tired and our pace slowed down, even after taking several brief rest stops. Even the quiet sounded ominous but if we talked at all it was just in whispers. It was unsaid ... but we didn’t want anyone or anything to hear us, disclosing our presence. Crossing tunnels became more frequent for parts of this stretch, including several tunnels that clearly seemed to go uphill more steeply than the one on our path. Phyl just hurried by them as fast as her tired feet could manage.

About an hour later she picked up her feet and actually ran, all ass and elbows, past another side passage to our right that seemed to open up into a larger cave or chamber. Her eyes were wide with obvious fear as is she feared that the very hounds of Hades were chasing after her, but even adrenaline couldn’t keep our feet going for more than another five minutes or so until we were forced to stop and catch our breathes.

I asked her what was in that other passage but she just violently shook her head and kept her lips pressed tightly together in silence.

Just about the time that Fredi’s feet started to drag and shuffle in exhaustion we reached a rougher hand-hewn passage that steeply inclined upwards. While also obviously man-made, this passage seemed to be recently dug and didn’t traverse more than a hundred yards, emerging into a new sequence of river carved caverns. Here, just inside this first natural cave was our next prepared campsite and we collapsed into it.

Again, Phyl collapsed into sleep nearly immediately, even skipping a tube of cold dinner. Fredi and I considered firing up the camp stove and preparing a proper hot dinner but after a moment’s consideration we left them untouched and enjoyed (not really) a packet or two of cold rations before sleeping. It was unsaid, but I didn’t want even the trivial smell of boiling water to flow down into the disturbing passages below. We just wanted our passage to remain secretive and unnoticed ... and thanked every deity I could think of that I’d never have to make this journey ever again!

We took the remaining day of our upwards journey through seemingly endless series of natural caverns a bit more leisurely, stopping for a warm meal at each camp and making something of a lingering feast at our final dinner base. The underground streams here were usually more shallow and cooler as we ascended but there were occasional ponds deep enough to bathe or swim in, particularly at our evening camp, and at both rest stops our erotic impulses reemerged, briefly but lovingly at noon, and more energetically before bed.

At several spots there were very minor technical climbs to ascend next to small waterfalls from above, but none of them were challenging. Each had ropes and ascenders, and couple of them could even have been managed bare-handed, if one was inclined. We weren’t. We just wanted up and out ... preferably quickly and safely.