Thursday, March 17, 2016

Erotic Secrets of the Alanis Fountain of Angels: (Tragic Orgasm, an interlude in the Eccentric Hero and the Dancing Girl series)


Angel Zimmi & Elbereth on the fountain, by Zimmi Warwick (Alanis Gallery Sensual Images in Second Life, on flickr)


[Author's note: this story was inspired by events at the Alanis Erotic Art Gallery in Second Life. While posing nude as a fountain nymph, an Angel, I experimented with repurposing a few paragraphs of  an earlier story, The Eccentric Hero and the Dancing Girl, in the spontaneous context of sensual females exposed, wet, held motionless like statues for onlooking voyeurs. In the course of some rapid rewording to fit the context, the following fantasy emerged.]


Erotic Secrets of the Alanis Fountain of Angels: (1. Tragic Orgasm, an interlude in the Eccentric Hero and the Dancing Girl series)


Love Dolls held motionless

"Are we not love dolls?" Yoru whispered to herself, "Then let them free us to seduce whomever is within leaping distance of the fountain!"

It was Yoru's first day as an Alanis Angel, and she was fidgeting on the curious fountain in the park behind the Alanis Erotic Art Gallery. Yoru the Seductress stood poised to strike, her tongue ready to sooth and envelop. She cannot help herself, all her friends know she is insatiable. She was nude among a group of beautiful, equally nude women, and normally that would have been the signal to start thinking about sex. To start having sex. It was a highly erotic scene in Second Life, unlike anything she had seen before, and her pussy was taking charge.

But she couldn't move.

Mysterious effects on human health

The fountain is a triple-tiered, rotating, marble sculpture with torrents of water gushing out in jets of spray targeting Angels stretched in arousing poses.The Angels are unmoving, almost unbreathing, as though they are themselves rigid sculptures, lifeless sections of the sparkling, aquatic structure. Their skin glows with human warmth against the color of cold marble in a classic orgy fresco of Greek or Roman origin.

But like the fine mists hanging in the still air, this fountain is surrounded by hazy whispers concerning its mysterious effects on human health.

Living art

The Angels are sworn to silence, and would never speak about the health risks of their job. They are devoted to creating an illusion of innocent nymphs materializing from behind misty shadows of waterfalls, emerging to play in the ponds of someone's paradise. They stop dead in artful poses, becoming part of the art itself. Like primeval forces in roiling oceans, they lend life to their surroundings. The Angels of Alanis create living art.

Yoru was straining to be still, doing her best, but silence is hard for Yoru, as her lovers will attest. She was completely naked except for a pair of wings and a faintly glowing, cream-colored halo atop her jet black hair. It was all new to her, and since she knew none of the attending voyeurs, she was a little intimidated. This helped her to maintain the silence of her sister Angels.

They were quite a sight. There, held immobile in mouthwatering poses, were another six or eight naked Angels, models all. One posed dramatically at the very top, while the others perched on the second ledge, except one, recently arrived, who lay languidly on the lower pool ledge, legs spread wide.

Hips of woman

Yoru was one of the women on the second ledge of the fountain. Her athletic thighs lay side by side, sunlit, shimmering in the reflections flashing off the titillating water. She clutched them together, those oblong, creamy fields of legs. The long dark line between them was a smooth ravine suggestive of her vaginal split. The voyeur's eye, once landed on the legs, travels up, up, up to the convergence of rich female flesh, there where the lick-food of the goddess resides, and discovers the true split of her pussy, nestled at the center of her body, where the hips are roundest.

Hips of woman! Thou art the erotic center of the universe, the most desirable creation ever to spring from the swirling, unending gaps of existence. And her breasts feed it all, they nurture the stars in their evolution. Let the astronomers, who search the galaxies for more advanced cultures, heed the unending depths of the human female's capacity to love. It is surely among the uppermost benchmarks of universal intelligence.

Serene surroundings

The reason this fountain  attracts such a crowd of art lover voyeurs is that, unlike the encroaching stone and cold water, the statues of nude goddesses are alive, the Angels are bunny-warm inside, veins pulsing wildly, excited to be part of the living art. Even though their limbs are held strictly unmoving, everything inside churns desire. They are held as tightly as the most skillful knots of the shibari rope masters, and the attending voyeurs feel this. They see the small twitching and hear the subtle groans of the natural women, who betray therewith their passion. It is exhausting for the women, but worth it, for there is an unspoken hope for intense lovemaking after the event. It is perfectly engineered to provide the audience with a peak moment of erotic art in serene surroundings.

Well, perhaps not perfectly engineered. There is the problem of death by orgasm.

Serenity decays to resemble death

There is a certain point, there where doubt enters the mind, when serenity decays to resemble inaction, stultification, death. When the ultimate state of art and life meet in love, and when that love is created in perfection, what remains? What could be more arousing than the most beautiful models in Second Life being drenched to orgasm?

The erotic engineers who designed the fountain knew that the only way to reach beyond the earthly grip of art was to send it into the next world. The summit of art's glory, as with life, resides in its ephemeral nature, and the designers set about to trap the Angels in their poses. Their intention was not exactly innocent, although they did not realize it was criminal until they heard reports of the lovely "human statues" dying during the course of their duties.

As with all life, living art must also die

The chilly, lifeless scene required the warm, beating hearts of the Angels to effect its illusion. Compared to marble, beating hearts are frail indeed.

Suddenly Yoru got it, and stopped fidgeting. She was there to make art, and her heart quaked when she realized that, as with all life, living art must also eventually die. She felt instinctively that she had put herself in harm's way, though she could not say how. She resolved to solve the mystery.

She knew also that the element of danger was what had attracted her. It was sinister, but why? It made Yoru shudder and her eyes began to dart around her friends, begging with squinting eyes for answers, but none returned her gaze, none broke silence. She tore her stare away from them to the audience of voyeurs, and for the first time she started paying attention to their chat. Would one of them drop clues to the hellish secret of the Fountain of Angels?

Chat of the voyeurs

The guest voyeurs murmured comments to each other and themselves while Eric Clapton performed "While My Guitar Gently Weeps" on a radio in the background. Everyone was staring at the rotating nudes before them, but instead of speaking of Botticelli's, they spoke of sports.

Yoru ignored such talk. Here were women being thrashed by water in every erotic pose imaginable, according to some system she had yet to fathom, and to Yoru's mind it was a source of endless inspiration to erotic contemplation, quite removed from the commonplace of irrelevant chatter. Yoru moved her eyes from them to other voyeurs, those who seemed held speechless by the spectacle. Only her eyeballs could move in her artificially paralyzed body, and so she had to constantly follow her gaze around and around, syncing with the rotation of the fountain. It made her dizzy, rotating like that,so that all the sounds of the fountain and the audience began to mesh into a blur.

Wait, what was that? Did she hear something?

Cannot hide a woman's sigh

Amidst the chattering people and babbling water, there was something else... indistinguishable, eerie, sometimes a deep groaning almost inaudible, interspersed with a high pitched shrieking reaching into the range of the animal-like.

Gurgling water dances and seems to imitate human voices, and is even called lively, but it is essentially inanimate, lifeless. It cannot hide a woman's sigh. The fountain bathed the Angels in waves of mist, and there, in the shifting fogs, the girls sometimes had the impression they were not alone. It seems silly, but still, it happened. They thought they saw ghostly apparitions in the air, distorted by reflections of dancing lights, or heard a drifting gasp. Another time, they could just make out stifled breathing. These agonized utterances floated through the gaseous inner circles of the fountain and echoed around the waterways, unclear, hideous, hiding their origins in the cacophony of liquid sounds.

Was it a woman's cry? Or was it the sigh of an Angel long expired?



                                         Angel Rhia on Alanis Fountain, by Experta Faith (Alanis Gallery Sensual Images in Second Life, flickr)



All the Angels agree, the pose at the top is the best 

What Yoru didn't know is that the fountain's devilish designers had provided sexual entertainment for the girls at every level. The kissing, cuddling stage was below, on the first level, where steady flows of soothing water caressed their backs, tummies, breasts, and luscious legs. The jets of water made their muscles ripple and their soft flesh hum as in a sexual massage. They were soon ready for more.

Level two had the foreplay mechanics, where the streaming water no longer just flowed over large swathes of their flesh, but now targeted more sensitive zones like the nipples and between the buttcheeks. On level two the girls discovered that someone had aimed streaming jets directly at their erogenous zones, but because they couldn't move out of the streams, they soon accepted the wildly accelerating sexual arousal.

Deep in an endless orgasm

But it was at the top level that the magic happened. The women posing there were deep in an endless succession of orgasms. They were automatically positioned by the fountain's menu there where the water sprang from its roots and gushed up the shaft to burst out in the most powerful jet, its flowering top flooding the girls' genitals, its core throbbing on their clits. They were so ecstatic, cumming publically like puppets in pubic paradise, that they naturally melted into the ultimate orgasmic pose, body arched back in a half circle as far as they could bend. They would have been blown off the top by the strong currents had their feet not been locked down. Both arms reach down and back, fingers splayed, clutching for, but not finding, rescue from the unrelenting watery phallus that was pounding, penetrating, pummeling their pussies. Their legs straddled the relentless tidal surges, positioned cleverly on their clits, and it was finely tuned, a firm massage on the women's most sensitive erotic nerve center, and they came and came and came.

The truth is, it worked a little too well. Whoever had designed the fountain had provided the owner with a HUD to rotate the eager models, starting them below and slowly working them up the fountain's levels in stages of arousal mimicking a couple's natural progression in a normal lovemaking situation. But the women were glued to a machine, and mech-sex, as delicious as it can be, can also be dangerous.

The person operating the fountain needed to keenly observe when the women's vaginas had swollen sufficiently to move them higher on the fountain. Once the first two girls had made it to the uppermost pose, and began spurting in ecstasy, the operator let them enjoy nirvana a while, but had the responsibility of getting them back down to the first level if they showed signs of fainting. They always showed signs or fainting, and some did faint before the operator was able to switch them back to first, more tender level.

Eerie, expressionless ecstasy

All this was supposed to be a secret. The angels quickly learned to seek the top two positions, each in turn being sprayed publicly with the jets of water, which caused them to mix in their own sexual liquids in involuntary, heavenly squirts. The event called for silent angels, frozen in their poses as though they were marble statues, unable to even draw breath. Their bodies convulsed almost imperceptibly.

But those voyeur art lovers who knew the sinister secret of the unending orgasms sat riveted to their seats, gazing at the women in eerie, expressionless ecstasy.

Those who knew the fountain's secret were at high-risk

Adding to the mystery, it was hinted that the nude Angels of Alanis had been the cause of dispatching voyeurs in the audience who hadn't been able to control the increased beating of their hearts. It had happened several times. What were the Angels doing on that fountain? Yoru had to find out. After all, the Angels were sworn to absolute silent secrecy, so how could they be accused of sending people to erotic eternity without defending themselves? They were not allowed to tell of their own pleasure, much less that of others. And in Xaara, where the great gallery stood, were erotic artists experienced in the ways of love who whispered death at the Alanis Fountain of Angels a resplendent way to die...

A voyeur makes his move

One of the voyeurs began tapping his foot in time with his heartbeat. Yoru instantly started watching him, wondering if he would reveal the secret to her. The foot-tapper was concentrating on one woman, the one at the top of the fountain. He held a gourd-shaped, glass water jug in one hand.

Yoru kept swirling her eyes around at him until finally he stood up, walked to the fountain, and filled his transparent jug in the agitated water. Holding the vessel up to the sunlight, he inspected the clarity of its contents, let his nose linger over the top, took a small swig, just enough to swish, swallowed, and smiled.

Nodding to the other voyeurs, he capped the jug and strolled in long strides away toward the parking lot. Yoru urgently requested release in an IM to the Alanis director, and when she got it, sprang from her perch in the fountain and raced after him. She jumped into the passenger seat of the man's car just as he was pulling out. The buckle of her seat belt closed precisely over her glistening, blue-black pubic hair, partially covering her femininity modestly, but otherwise she was still completely naked. Yoru sat firmly grasping the seat belt, determined to stay with the art lover voyeur until she questioned him .

He handed her the jar without even asking what she was doing, and drove. He acted as though dripping, nude women soaked his car seats every day.

 After he drove a while in silence, she asked, "What are you going to do with this water?"

He smiled and answered, "Let's have it chilled with lunch, shall we?"

The eccentric art lover

"What a pleasant surprise!" the art lover said, eying Yoru with desire from across the table. They were in a shaded garden, under grape trellises, and a faint breeze blew her perfume past him along with the heavy scents of fresh flowers in the earthy beds surrounding them.

The art lover was a bit odd, it is true, but he had his reasons. There was an Angels event every morning, and the art lover had the habit of fetching a large jar of crystalline water in the fountain where they posed nude. It was a long drive home and he often became thirsty and sneaked a mouthful of the scented water, carefully holding the bottle with widespread legs as he gulped, for fear of spilling. The liquid it contained had an unearthly, arousing scent. He was addicted to the fragrance, present in every drop, left by the exquisite angels as they toiled in the hot sun to remain unmoving, as their pussies squirted, cumming silently as the dead, unabashed that they were intimating and everyone was clearly hearing and seeing that they were losing control, while the fountain's jets made them more and more aroused, more turned on, more ready for love, fantasizing that their lovers had come to fetch them, and finally letting go to the phantoms surrounding them.

The feminine arousal-water had a subtle scent, unequaled in the erotic universe of smells, and would command a fortune in the marketplace, if it weren't so quickly swallowed by the art lover himself.

Essence of ecstasy, harvested from ecstatic women

Why would the art lover so crave to consume the feminine nectar mixed in the fountain's water? The naughty Angels couldn't help themselves, being watched by passionate eyes, they squirted from their sexual cores, their essences salted with the sweet, musky sweat of their posing bodies in the sun, and finally, scented to dizzy perfection with subtle perfumes, it became a wonderful, rejuvenating drink. Essence of ecstasy, harvested from ecstatic women. It is perhaps eccentric, but the art lover found it so tasty that he enjoyed drinking the entire bottle, imagining having the Angels' pussies with his lunch.

A torrent of tongues

As could be expected, this poor art lover's rumored eccentricity was partly due to the naughty angels. The exquisite, winged creatures, while lounging nude at the fountain, were overwhelmed by multiple orgasms as they found themselves locked in the swift running water, the liquid beating their nether-lips with an unrelenting flow not unlike a torrent of tongues. Their pretty pussies glistened slick and wet and swollen in the drifting mists, for everyone to see.

Yoru learns the secret

The art lover told Yoru the secret of the diabolical construction of the fountain while he came in her mouth after lunch. She was shocked to hear of the fatalities, but it made sense that people, men and women both, wanted to end their days, if their time had arrived, in such a manner, being part of one of the most erotic scenes anyone had ever imagined possible.

As she swallowed his semen, she remembered wondering how much of the viscous man juices had found their way into the fountain in the dark nights after the events. She hoped the water had a healthy amount of the essences of men as well as women, it seemed reasonable that a mix would give a more balanced beverage, and asked to try a swallow herself to wash down his seed.

It was good.

She determined to visit the fountain that night to spy if there were visitors as curious as she, perhaps with loads of cum to deliver to the spot where they had seen the women thrill. There might even be other women, tough-minded Domme voyeurs, who, not having joined the pliant Angels on the fountain, might plunge into the water and gulp their fill without a tremble of regret.

Stuck at the top of the Alanis Angel Fountain, cumming, dying

Yoru got to the Fountain of Angels late that night, but to her disappointment, found nobody there. She looked over her shoulder, thought about it briefly, then decided to do something naughty. She clicked on the control HUD to start the fountain slowly rotating, then activated the top pose, the endless climax trap at the very summit of the darkened structure. The art lover had warned her about it, but Yoru, certain of her capacity for love, wanted to feel what everyone was reputedly "dying" for.

Every orgasming organism makes sound, even machines

Jumping up alone had been a mistake. She was instantly locked on the top of the fountain and held in the deathlike grip of the ultimate orgasm pose, and the water at first spurted up and penetrated her, intruded inside her pussy, before the stream adjusted to hit her clitorus. The water jets, in other words, are specifically made to spurt from their roots up the shaft and inside the women, penetrating every one, every time, before adjusting to their clits, as though the AI had in its mechanical mind the wicked intention to invade its human victims to show it was their Mech-Master. The force and coolness of the water had shocked her a little at first, but she quickly fantasized a remorseless machine mech-lover specializing in fucking human women, legs cranking and arms in a frenzy of nuts and bolts to hold her in a brutal position that allowed the motor to humiliate her with inhuman lust. This image sent Yoru into a sexual blossoming, a rage of satisfaction engulfed her, she was soon lost in pleasure. She wanted to squeal in delight as orgasm followed orgasm, but struggled mightily to hold her silence, remembering the Angel's duty to not make a sound.

But of course some sound will escape every orgasming organism, even machines.

Her legs straddled the upwelling water

There where the water spurted was the soft inner skin of Yoru's thighs, converging up to her love-triangle, helping to funnel the power of the fountain directly onto her clitoral area. Her pussy contracted sharply at the surging onslaught, then relaxed as pleasure transformed the drilling into unending ravishing. She passed out.

Death by orgasm

Angel Yoru rotated slowly with the fountain, unblinking, held nude for all to see, but there was nobody to witness the self-inflicted torture. It was as though the sculptor of the fountain had finished the most astonishing of his creations, a goddess in every way, but had yet to give her life. And so Yoru hung immobile, back arched, in the remorseless grip of the machine, so deep in orgasm she breathed not one breath, and as she became more and more inanimate, her tongue imagined an unending kiss, her eyes glassed over and yearned to see her demon lover, but she felt only the overwhelming clitoral climax below. Her pink lips were turning the whitish grey of the marble fountain, she was joining it in its lifelessness. 

And so it was that innocent Angels were intentionally trapped in erotic harm's way

The evil engineers who came up with this naughty, some might call it deadly design, were guided by a simple business model. Make the women on the top ledge climax repeatedly, so they would stay there, stuck in the pose, in an unending orgasm as onlookers gazed at their bodies. As word got out about the endless orgasms, more people would buy fountains. The engineers hadn't counted on the unthinkable possibility of a girl left at the top for hours. It was the operator's job to rotate them out. But Yoru was there nonetheless, at the mercy of the water, helpless in the face of unending, ultimate pleasure.

At one point, stuck at the top all night, shivering in her nudity, she imagined she depicted an angel for the devil's own delight in the fountain's unrelenting rush to make her cum and hold her in a hell of ecstasy. It was a punishment for the most brash of femme fatales, and everyone knows Yoru deserved it. She had earned death by orgasm as surely as the water was taking her there.

Trapped in the perpetual orgasm machine

The flow was so intense she couldn't move, it had stunned her body with pleasure and had locked her into position. She didn't notice that several voyeurs had eventually returned and stood watching her, wondering vaguely if she was OK.

Then something strange happened. The sheer subtle suffering of this unfortunate Angel's anguish of pleasure, in sworn silence, began to heighten the voyeurs' satisfaction, or rather, it increased their peculiar form of enjoyment, which consists of a tightening of their erotic cores into knots of excitement that can be quite painful, even fatal for the voyeurs themselves, unless they get some kind of relief. A hint of movement in such circumstances, such as the dying gasp of an Angel on top, could open a flood of emotion in the onlooking voyeur, as the latter's imagination has been filled to bursting with the intense stimulation of the victim Angel's body, which she could not reveal in her silence.

Taking her life juices for its own


Yoru was held there, cumming. Nobody released her until dawn. It was as though the machine had gripped an unnaturally stiff body in its clamps which, when released, flopped to the floor, a rag doll without joints. The returning voyeurs loved her for it, but she knew not of their love, for the perpetual stimulation of her pussy had at last left her exhausted and oblivious to the world.

The fountain of erotic art had fucked Yoru unconscious, but she has an athletic body and survived, at least for the time being. Her pussy will be enchained there for your pleasure, along with the other Angels, until the fountain finally takes their life fluids for its own.