Basilio Valentino has done it again! He has delivered us a true work of art! Enjoy this invigorating, exhilarating, corroborant and enthralling erotic epic!

She looked at me with those gigantic innocent eyes. I realized I had not been truly excited for a very long time. Not like this. The blood was pounding viciously in all my veins. The sensation was utterly confusing: I wanted her to be happy, to enjoy life, to remain as she was – unspoiled – and… that was completely impossible. I pushed her shoulders down. I wound the string of my underwear around her index fingers and made her rip it to pieces.

My cock was concrete; it was throbbing. I shoved it in her face. I felt the back of her throat. She produced strange, otherworldly sounds. At first, I didn’t stick it into the fullest, but with every push, I felt a stronger urge to fill her mouth, her throat; to overwhelm her, perhaps even to choke her. I couldn’t stand so much innocence.
I felt the back of her mouth. I felt her throat. The breath came from her nose holes irregularly – in sudden bursts. Saliva dripped down the shaft of my cock and down my balls.
I took her head between my hands and began to fuck her mouth. I could come but I didn’t. I kept ramming it in.

“I kept ramming it in.”

The sounds she produces grow in intensity.
We are here now; all of the time, everything that’s ever happened, it all came down to this.
I had to touch her inside. Quickly we had rescued her from her clothes. She clung to me when I entered her. We clung to each other, and everything else clung in ever increasing concentric circles around us.
Welcome to my dream, she whispered, then stammered, then cried.
We reached the center; was it the nadir?
I came like a prophetic inspiration.
But I’m really not that innocent, am I? Trixie said mockingly.
What?
Me… innocent, uh uh.
Oh God… back to my own realm, Earth. What was going on? She had played her role so convincingly I had become completely immersed in a parallel reality, convinced she was indeed who she pretended to be.
How do you do that Trix? I asked.
All the world’s a stage baby, all the world’s a stage.
She smiled.
You know I’m starring in a play, right?
Ehm, no, I did not.
Oh, no, no-one told you?! Okay, well, I’m very excited about it. The premiere is on Saturday night.
This week?
Yes… it’s a play based on Shakespeare’s The Tempest called the Tempestuous. I play a witch.
Of course, you do. So, no acting required of you then…
Hahaha. You really should come, dear Basilio. I will put you on the guest list. It’s at the Grand Guignol.
I never realized this city had a Grand Guignol.
Well, it does. And you will come.


“It was as perplexing as it was violent and erotic.”

And thus it was that I found myself on one of the front row seats of a neo-gothic theatre, watching a play which was as perplexing as it was violent and erotic. A lucid dream, set on an island that was not of this world; a place where even the laws of nature were broken. Trixie was a terrific witch. At some point she was in the center of the stage, performing a monologue that dealt with the precariousness of existence. She had been introduced by a choir of nine angels. And such lovely creatures they were! Truly angelic girls, all nine of them.


The person who did the casting for this play surely knows his trade, I thought.
Their dress was perfectly risqué, I couldn’t resist peering at the female features which were being flaunted as they danced. And how did they manage to make it feel so… personal? It was as if they were dancing just for me as if I was the only member of the crowd who had been magically transported to the enchanted island. Would the other spectators experience a similar sensation?
After the play had finished I got up with the intention of finding Trixie. Someone told me where the dressing rooms were.


I heard much giggles and feminine laughter from behind a door and reckoned that this was where I was likely to encounter Trixie. As I approached the door I heard more than just laughter: I could unmistakably discern kissing and moaning. I was at a loss as to what to do.

After lingering in front of the door for perhaps thirty seconds my curiosity got the better of me and I decided to enter the room. Quite a spectacle I encountered as I opened that door! The nine girls who had formed the angelic flock were in the formative stages of what was unquestionably becoming an orgy. Five of them were undressing, two were already stark naked, two others had just slipped a strap-on dildo around their wastes.

But now they had all stopped what they were doing and stared at me.
I’m sorry, I was looking for someone! I stammered.
The one closest to me said: please close the door behind you.
Excuse me?!
Come on, hurry up. Close the door.
I was about to leave when the girl spoke:
I mean, with you on this side of the door, please.
What?!
Suddenly the girl jumped up and closed the door behind me. She looked me in the eyes and then she looked at the other girls.
Now we are ten, I think that is better, she said.
They all seemed to agree.


             “They surrounded me and started to peel my clothes off.”

They surrounded me and started to peel my clothes off.
I was bewildered, but it was the sort of bewilderment one can’t get enough of.
You are quite the fallen angels here, I said.
Divine madness ensued. During the next one or two hours, I was in (and often the focal point of) a blizzard of arms, legs, fingers, feet, breasts, lips, tongues, vagina’s… If I looked to the left I saw one, two, three, girls kissing each other and me; if I looked to the right I saw two girls fucking another girl with strap-ons; sometimes it was sweet, sometimes it was rough; in many cased a girl ended up being sandwiched by either two girls, or by one girl and me.


I had come several times… but there was no way to stop this. Would it ever?
Then BANG! A big flash.
We all stood pinned to the ground. Our eyes, which had accustomed to the dim light, were blinking. Then I saw what caused this sudden intrusion: From behind a curtain in the left corner of the room, a girl had appeared. She was holding an enormous object: a vintage camera with a lamp attached on top of it. It had flashed.
Of course, it was Trixie. She was grinning.

 

PUBLISHED BY

Basilio Valentino 

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