Chapter 31: Rain Cloud

The fight went out of me. The life seemed to go out of me as well. "No..." was all I could say, and not even very loud. I looked over at Amy and saw the tears in her eyes. She looked shattered as well, terrified. And she'd tried to protect me from it. She knew. There were two of her staring at me though. It looked weird. I shook my head and then there was only one Amy again. Then there were two again. I squinted. My eyes. Something wrong with my eyes. Maybe this was a delusion! Maybe ... I looked again, and saw a cloud of flesh, surrounding Charlotte. I saw her cum-smeared hand pull another guy from the crowd and guide him between her thighs. He entered her, grinned, chuckled at the pleasure of it.

"So fuckin' tight! Oh my god!" he said.

"Like it, baby?"

"No..." I muttered again, squeezing my eyes shut as though that could make the image go away.

I somehow got up onto my feet. I don't even remember it all to be honest. I turned around in a circle a few times, not knowing what to do, not wanting to look in the bedroom but somehow needing to anyway, to confirm that it wasn't some nightmare. Was this the girl I loved, getting fucked by ten guys, one after another, covered in their cum and calling them on like an absolute whore? This had to be a nightmare!

And then somehow I was standing in the living room downstairs. It seems like snatches from a dream; I don't know how I got down there. I tripped and fell onto the back of the couch and my hand landed on someone's ass.

"Whoa, dude!" the guy said. He was fucking some skinny little brunette chick. She blushed scarlet and being caught, but she made no move to hide her face.

"Sorry, man..." I mumbled. "Enjoy your lay."

His ass started thrusting again, and her eyes closed. Her mouth opened and leaned up for a kiss. Then I was fumbling with the front door. I couldn't get it open. When I finally did, I saw rain, thick, heavy rain pouring down like it meant to wash the world away. Everything was wet and the street was misty. I stumbled out into the downpour, and nobody stopped me.

Then I was fumbling with my keys, trying to open the door of my truck to drive home, but I couldn't get that open either. I'm not even sure if it was my truck. My arm didn't work either. Something was pulling at my arm every time I tried to put the key in the lock.

"Fuck!" I yelled, but my voice was drowned out by the sound of rain. I finally gave up and turned toward home on foot.

It was a long walk. I don't even remember the walk really. I know it's about 20 minutes' walk when you're sober, but it must have taken me 90 minutes stone cold drunk. I kept falling into people's bushes, and something kept pulling at my arm. I'd get up again, and stumble a little further, through wet sloppy puddles that soaked right through to my socks. And then I'd fall again.

Finally I found myself at my front door, soaked to the skin, and shivering like a wet cat, and the door swung open. The house was dark. My keys were in the lock and I don't even know how they got in there.

I went to the phone first, and tried to phone Sheila's house. For some reason I got the idea in my head that I needed to warn her about the rain. The phone kept hanging up though, before I'd finished dialing. I was soaking wet and my fingers were slipping off the buttons, and the damn thing kept hanging itself up. Finally, I noticed it wasn't even plugged in any more.

"Charlotte," I said into the phone, "go out in the rain. You'll get all clean in the rain. Go out in the rain."

Then the phone was pulled from my hand, and I rolled around on the floor for a while.

"I gotta piss. Why am I all wet? What happened?"

Then there was thunder from outside. I was tugged toward the bathroom and I found myself pissing to end all pisses. It's a wonder I hadn't pissed my pants on the way home there was so much of it. The bathroom was dark except for a light on in the hallway. The toilet magically flushed itself, and I giggled again.

"Wow! That's neat. Good job."

I got my dick back in my pants but couldn't get them done up, so I just stumbled out into the hallway again.

I wanted to go to the kitchen and get something to eat, but somehow I was steered toward the bedroom. I felt like I was floating anyway, so I just went with it. I was on a cloud, and the cloud wanted me in bed.

I wandered away into my bedroom and flopped down onto the bed. God, was the room ever spinning. It was crazy. I wanted it to stop. I wanted to get up, but I couldn't. I was too heavy, like there was a weight on me, holding me down. My keys were on my end table all of a sudden and I don't even know how they got there.

"How'd you get here, keysies? You werz in the door. I know you were. You can't fool me, keysies."

I heard a cute little giggle. I thought it was them, but that just confused me because, I thought to myself, keys can't giggle. Only locks can.

Then I was laying there and the room was spinning, for the longest time. I wanted it to stop spinning and I kept trying to get up, but my body was numb and I had no strength. It was like I was being held down.

"Wait. This happened already. Something's too heavy. I can't get up. I can't move. Something's on me. Is it that cloud again? I can't see anything. Wait. I can see the clock. Hi, clock! Hi, Clocky. Clocky, clock. You rhyme with cock, clock. Three-hundred inches long, just like me!"

And then I laughed like a maniac. I remember the clock on the dresser said 3 a.m., a three and two zeroes, exactly: three-hundred. Suddenly I was trying to figure out how I'd gotten home into my own bed again.

Then my pants were yanking off me, and my shirt was coming off my head. I felt all tangled up for a moment and kicked. I heard the slap of my foot on flesh, but I felt nothing. I had my eyes shut and it felt like my clothes were yanking themselves off of my frame, one article at a time. Soon I was naked. I just lay there groaning. The room wouldn't stop spinning.

There was tickling on my body. Fingers? Feathers? No, I decided--the wings of a little butterfly fluttering over my flesh, tickling me, relaxing me, making me moan. They went everywhere and I just lay there, grinning and giggling, and moaning sometimes. Then it felt like little licks.

"There's a butterfly's licking me ... Feels nice. Thank you, little butterfly."

Then the tickles were on my scrotum, and fluttering up my shaft, wet flickering little butterfly wings on my most sensitive part. I was hard as a rock all over again.

The butterfly was panting excitedly too. I thought that was weird.

Then, all of a sudden the butterfly melted into warm wet goo, and its pretty wet warmth descended over my cock head. That's what it felt like: ticklish and pretty one moment, and then wet and gooey, all around my cock head the next. That I could feel, just this sudden warm slippery swirling tightness enclosed on my cock. I reached down and felt ... someone's hair. I couldn't lift my head though. I couldn't even open my eyes. I just felt hair on someone's head, and sweet, swirling sucking on my cock. Such a pretty little butterfly.

How did I get naked!? I suddenly realized I was naked all over again. How did I get home from Charlotte's house? Where'd that pretty little butterfly go?

"I like how you melt, little butterfly. It feels like someone sucking on my cock when you melt on me like that."

And then the sucking wetness was gone. The pretty, happy feeling of being inside something slippery and swirly was suddenly gone.

"Swippwy ... swerwy..." I mumbled. "Come back, butterfly."

I reached down, and the hair was gone, the head was gone. Now there was a leg. There was flesh — a waist. There was something pushing down on the top of my cock head Something very wet, but unyielding. I shoved upward in argument of the downward pressure and popped inside some more wetness. Yummy! There was a gasp, and then the wetness was back, all around me, crushing me. I giggled. The tight, wet, squeezing butterfly was back, surrounding my cock, struggling to ... eat it somehow, my mind thought. Pretty little butterfly is trying to eat me up. Something really nice and kissy and sucky, sucking on me so nicely, so ... up and down, oooh!, that's nice!, up and down, little by little, engulfing me, squeezing me so hard, like a wet slippery fist, up and down, up and down, getting deeper, fucking me.

Someone's fucking me ... I think...

And the tightness took more of me, crushing me, and chewing on me hard with its sweet little toothless mouth. I shoved upward, into that mouth, and felt myself hit bottom. Ahhh! Yummy! So tight, and nice, and yummy! I heard another gasping cry, and someone whispered "Owie, owie! Ow, ow! Fuck!" and I felt hot rain on my chest.

"It's raining in my room!" I said, way too loud. "Why is it raining in my room?"

"Shhh, Anthony. Be quiet."

The sweet, delicious, sucking tightness on my cock had a voice. It sounded an awful lot like Amy.

I finally managed to open my eyes, but all I could see was the clock on my dresser: 3:58. Slippery sweet tight-sucking pleasure was massaging on my cock. But it felt like it was everywhere really. All over my whole being. I was numb and tingly all over and everything felt wonderful. I just laid there and let it happen, wondering every once in a while how I'd gotten home, and how come it was raining in my bedroom, hot salty rain on my chest.

"I love you, Anthony. I'll love you as long as I live, no matter what. I swear it by my own blood. I'll love you forever."

"You sounds like Amy, little rain cloud. Why you sounds like Aims?"

Then the up and down, in and out motion sped up, faster and faster, until it was one wet steady slick pumping sensation along the end of my cock, everywhere at once, without pausing. I heard panting, straining, desperate, almost agonized panting that wasn't me, and I felt more rain falling, and someone called out to god. The sweet slippery massage intensified toward a bursting explosion. I felt like I was upside down, outside myself, tumbling over and over in back-flipping pleasure as my cock was swallowed up in that beautiful tightness, wet and hungry tightness, gobbling me up at a piston's pace. And then I came. I heard a feminine squeal somewhere above me as my cock throbbed hard and thick, and then burst out with its hot stringy spew. I grunted and thrust upwards and shivered all over, and came, and came, and came some more, spurting and growling, and yanking at my sheets as the beautiful tightness squeezed on me, winding down to a slow sweet gyration of sensual massaging, sucking me dry of everything I had.

Then all I heard was panting. I felt even more gooey and numb and I felt like I was drifting away. This must be what dying feels like, I thought. This must be heaven. Then I heard my voice, far away and echoey.

"I made babies in you, little rain cloud." And then I was asleep. That's all I remember. I swear.

Dawn came in the window before I was ready for it. The first thing I remember was the sound of a garbage truck growling, beeping, and generally making a whole hell of a lot of racket outside my window, and when you've had a little too much to drink the night before, noise like that feels like punches in the head.

I wasn't completely hung-over. I hadn't been completely and totally trashed the night before. A lot of the night was foggy, but I did manage to make it home to my own bed apparently, somehow, so I couldn't have been completely gone. And the resultant hangover wasn't completely devastating. It was ugly, but I wasn't wrecked.

I opened my eyes, and saw Amy lying asleep beside me. Then I quickly lifted my head when I realized I was actually in my own bed. What the! How the hell had I gotten-

POW!

The pain hit me as soon as I moved, a thick dull ache that felt like a hammer to the back of my head. Bang! I dropped back onto my pillow and squeezed my eyes tightly shut, willing the ache to dissipate. It did, eventually, and I opened my eyes and lifted my head more slowly, more carefully.

There was Amy, asleep, with her mouth slightly open, her hair stuck to part of her face. She looked troubled. I looked around my room, trying to figure out how I'd gotten there. Damn! Even moving my eyes hurt. It was awful. But little pieces of the journey came back slowly, snatches of flashes of memories; I wasn't sure if I'd dreamed them or if they were real. I remembered stumbling around in the rain. I remembered taking a piss in my bathroom. I remembered fumbling with my keys in the door. I remembered the couple having sex on the couch at Charlotte's, and standing there in the bathroom, and-

Oh yeah. Oh shit. Charlotte. I remembered her being in bed with a whole bunch of guys, or at least seeing a whole bunch of naked guys surrounding her while she fucked a couple of them. I got hot acid in the pit of my stomach at that thought. It hit suddenly, and it burned. I tensed. I felt nauseous. I dropped my head to the pillow again, closing my eyes like a dying man. Had Charlotte really fucked a whole roomful of guys?

Ouch. The memory hurt worse than the hangover. It was vague, a mere blur of flesh, lots of flesh, but it was enough. Charlotte had been fucking a roomful of guys. I remembered it. Well, we were definitely over I guess. Even if she wanted to take me back, which I seriously doubted at that point, I didn't think I would take her back now. It was definitely over. She'd made sure of that.

I stirred around in the soup of my memory, digging deeper, searching for the details. I remembered going out into the hall and suddenly feeling like all the booze hit me all at once. I remember seeing Amy sitting there, looking sad, confused, crying. And then she tried to stop me from looking in Charlotte's room, because there was something ... a bunch of guys fucking her. It was so foggy!

But how had I gotten home after that, and how had Amy gotten there with me? And how—

What the hell!? We were both naked! I flipped the covers off of us and found us both completely bare-assed nude. That's when more of the story hit me. The night before, a few hours before even, I vaguely remember something very tight and hot and wet on my-