Have more fun with Marissa and Leslie.

Holy shit, Boris thought as Leslie below him blinked out the cum that had appeared over her eyes.

"Wow, you left no rock unturned with that, mister," she commented glibly.

"Hey, you done humping my sister's ass yet?"

Boris briskly stood up. Nefariously, he turned to see the guy who'd nearly socked him clean staring back at him and quickly collected himself. "Yeah, and that was one hot, totally hump-able ass." His eyes gleamed. "Whatchyu gonna do about it?"

After all, he had just stood there and watched as this wandering stranger masturbated on his sister's ass and came on both her and her friend. Was he really that better off? Boris studied his passive expression with sadistic interest; so when he just offered a near blank faced shrug in response, it came as a flower-wilting punctuation to his trigger-happy fingers.

"Nothing, really," clarified Timmy, "we just got a party lined up soon and once you're finished we'll probably have to get going."

"No time to hang out, unfortunately," Leslie added apologetically.

Marissa got up on her knees, then on her feet, and stood up while pulling her pants back into place. "How much longer 'til the party again, Tim?"

Timmy looked at his watch. "We got about 2 hours and a half. Still plenty of time."

Oh. Okay, thought Boris, the sexual fog finally clearing and revealing to him the oddity of those reactions in res.

"What?! What are you talking about?" The trio's expressions blankly turned over at his outburst. Marissa's blinking lids as she zipped up her jeans was just the icing on top.

What he should've done then, rationally speaking, was take off, and never say the tide never turned in his favor while laughing his way back to filth and squalor.

Cumming on a girl's ass, then on another girl's face, then slapping that ass, and cumming some more, while a cute face looked up innocently at him, and without a single purple eye or dialed number. It was convenient. Suspiciously so.

So of course, the paranoia alarm bells rang, and in the lane, the semen was glistening.

Yet, even with all of that being a reality, Boris summed up zero fucks, went up to Leslie and grabbed the strap of her sundress hanging over her left shoulder. Then he slid it down her arm. She looked at the strap, then back at Boris, paying him a curt smile before shifting her gaze somewhere else. Boris twitched.

Was she ignoring him?

Him?

She was ignoring a guy who once got mistaken for a sasquatch cosplayer, hand grazing her shoulder, who he had barely met minutes ago and cummed on two blue moons later after mashing her face against his cock, now standing only a foot away?

She was.

Of course she was.

"You see me, right?" he finally blurted.

Maybe she was blind, he thought, only for her to slide back to Boris' deadpan face with eyes as wholesome as a mother's hug and dick spunk converging downward by Newtonian governances. Then, looking across his face in casual study, Leslie nodded. "Yes." Abruptly, with wide eyes, she looked to Marissa to ask about someone-something-who-cared coming to the party. Boris automatically tuned her out.

The homeless groper nodded back. "Okie-dokie then." Then he turned to Timmy, finger pointing at Leslie while he reached down to the bottom of her dress and brazenly lifted it up. A breeze blew through, causing the hem to ripple musically. Leslie glanced at her pulled up dress and Boris with his hand holding it for the world to see before returning to talking to Miss Tight Ass, not even going to try to tell him to let go. Or scratching him, or smacking him, or screaming in fucking mortification.

"You see this too?" he presented her visible bottoms to the other man.

"Yeah," Timmy had pulled out his phone to make a call, but paused to rest his gaze on the pink panties that sat exposed under the girl's dress. "Huh, didn't know she wore Victoria's Secret."

"Hey Timmy, don't be a perv," apparently hearing his comments, Leslie stationed her hands where his line of sight would be broken. She frowned at him; as if he had crossed a line or something.

Boris stared at her. His hand was still clutched around the bottom of her dress and had it raised halfway up her abdomen while she awkwardly tried to block the view it gave Timmy with her hands, without actually pushing the dress back down with those same, free, very functional hands. Or pulling away. You know, like a normal person?

Huh, churned Boris' brain, call me crazy, but I think... I think I've just entered an alternate dimension. An alternate dimension where I'm free from these hoarders' self-indulgent, judgemental hypocrisies and now, now I could do the fuck all I want to them, and they won't even give a shit.

Karma, he thought disjointedly, this... this is my karmic justice!

And Boris proceeded to prove it, by grabbing Leslie's Victoria's secret knickers and slipping them down her legs.

Damn those legs are nice, he confirmed for himself as he pulled away. Circled over her legs, Leslie kept her feet on the spot even when Boris tugged them against her calves. He moved his hand under her sandals and lifted them up. It did the trick. In the next second, he was wagging her own panties in front of the young woman's face and she just stared at them like he had them fall into his hands from the sky pantie gods.

"Oh, you got something there." Leslie just looked on questioningly while Boris pushed her panties onto her face and wiped it across cheek and nose, forehead and mouth.

"There, all better!" He withdrew her now cum-tainted panties. Then he went up to Timmy, who had his phone back at his ear.

"Oh, thanks, mister." Leslie said from behind him. She was a genuine.

"No problem." Boris raised the woman's undergarments in his hand, like a flimsy mace, eyes glimmering at knucklecracker face.

"Hello?" Timmy had pivoted to the side, fixing a stare to the ground below as he spoke into the phone. "Yeah, what's up? Oh, yeah, sure, we could pick it up. Yeah, we're just--pffaagh--currently in--prrhgff--the--hrft--mall, so..."

As he talked, Boris was gleefully slapping at his face with Leslie's panties, also brushing some of his dried-up jizz stains on a cheekbone or two. His laughter echoed through the air, putting all hyperventilating foxes to shame.

It was real.

Somehow, some way, the consequences of his actions were basically being reduced to zero in the eyes of these kids, and he wasn't quite sure why.

But he wasn't going to wait for the world to spin back on its axis while he had it on its ass he wasn't!

Scrunching up the panties with his hands, he looked over to Marissa.

"Yeah, I know," she spun a lock of hair around her finger while addressing Leslie's concerns, apparently astutely indifferent to the state of either her friend's panties or her brother's face as she blah'd on. "I don't know if Sophie and that kittenfisher of hers is goinhhmmgffpph hmmmpphh errughmph."

"How do you like that?" Boris walked up to her and jammed the panties into her mouth, laughing at the look she gave him, which was akin to a 'Really, dude?' before she turned back to Leslie. She seemed to take that as her cue to continue the conversation, and Boris just grinned, cock already rising to hardness.

"...but I think that's her call, I don't think we should be, you know, armchair judging -- oh!"

"Now," he held his arm up to the gracious divinity above, "you may kiss the bride!"

The rug was swept under her feet as Leslie felt Boris' hand grab the back of her hair then push her into Marissa's face. She felt the taste of fabric and slight odor-emanating stains populate her mouth as her open lips hurled it tongue-first into her panties, held between Marissa's gums.

"Kiisss, kiiisss!" Boris laughed as he mashed the two women's faces against each other. He made them tilt their heads side to side like he was 6 years old playing with fashion dolls. Which he never did. Really.

Under his methodical direction the girls' hair started to get messy, compressing and fraying out. For consistency's sake he ruffled their carefully brushed and conditioned follicles up a bit, giving it a more natural, just-woke-up-in-bed look.

"What's wrong?" his tone feigned elderly concern. "Don't ya girls like each other?"

The two women didn't seem to be upset with him or what he was doing, but they were clearly in an awkward position as they weren't actually kissing each other nor did they want to, as Boris just robotically puppeteered their heads against themselves. And as it turned out, Leslie was still trying to talk through it, eventually just giving up. Not to mention Marissa couldn't even talk to begin with.

"Oh that's right," Boris pretended as if a light-bulb buzzed on above him and he continued shoving their faces together, "I forgot that women normally like to kiss and lick each other's pussies as a sign of good friendship during times of boredom or what have you; not their mouths!" He laughed, not even sure what he was saying, just that it sounded ridiculous, like what these two women were doing right now. "Silly fucking me!"

Had he noticed it, he might have sensed a strange glint flash over their eyes -- an abstractly optical artifact that flashed, in fact, through the eyes of all the world as his words sunk into a figurative lot of sand and sewed itself into the soil, and like Jack's beanstalk, erected itself into the sky and made same what was never same again.

But even if Boris was superstitious when the time called for it, he wasn't that jumpy. Like nothing had happened, he removed his hands from them, and plucked Leslie's panties out from Marissa's mouth. The two women breathed out, oxygen returning to their lungs, and color to their cheeks.

"Alright alright, you're done," he hunkered, failing to notice their lightheadedness. In a careless toss, he gave Leslie back her panties. "Here, you could put these back on, now."

"Um," Leslie looked at her panties ambiguously. Marissa flipped her tongue against her cheek, giving it a questionable evaluation of her own as she tried to bring the tactility back to her taste buds.

"Anyways," Boris continued as he grabbed Marissa by the waist and pulled her to him, to which she, of course, made no objection. "Timmy! Timmy!"

He emitted a disbelieving breath. Amazing. The McDream was still on the phone, cracking a joke about vapes, or whatever.

"Dammit," Boris stepped over to him, Marissa still in tow. Mid-sentence, he grabbed his phone from his ear, tsk-tsked, thn swung his hand down to Marissa's backside and pulled her jeans out and panties over. With some wiggling, and the feel of metallic coldness against warm skin on Marissa's part, he stuck the cellular device right against the crack of her ass, and with a slap, he released them and turned back to her brother, wagging a marred finger. "No more phones for you, buddy. You're grounded."

"Jeez, bro." The arm-folding response that followed was golden. "I'm not a kid anymore, you know."

If a glass of water was nearby, it would've shattered from the laugh that departed Boris' wheezing bronchioles.

As Boris started coughing, however, he realized that maybe it was those bronchioles that he'd just shattered.

"Well, too bad," he weakly replied, wiping a tear from a naked, dirt-spotted eye. "You ain't getting this back until I let Marissa give it back to you. Is that right, Marissa?"

Marissa gave Boris an interesting look, that seemed like her mind was going through a sensitive process in the background -- flipping, flopping, doing what, and the specifics of which, Boris couldn't guess. But eventually, she allowed a small smirk to curve the corner of her lips. "Damn straight!" she laughed, sending a teasing glance at Timmy.

Smiling in approval, Boris grabbed her breast and squeezed it, then twisted her nipple through her shirt. She breathed in, eyes faltering for a second, before residing into her groove. "M-mm."

This was definitely going to be good fun later. Boris massaged Marissa's chest while he asked Timmy about the party.

"Oh, it's Leslie's friend's birthday," he explained, then backtracked. "Well, we all know her. She's just turned 20 and they've been planning this huge getdown at her aunt's place, which is pretty stacked. It starts at around 8; I was just talking with Luther, one of the guys organizing it, and apparently they just needed to get some party supplies picked up since the other guy who was supposed to do it is going to be held up at work 'til 7. So--"

"Forget about that stuff," Boris waved a hand. Then, he stopped, and thought about it. "Actually... that may just be perfect," he murmured. "How far's the place?" To actually enter a home again, and without anybody giving a damn about it as he slept and trashed as he pleased -- not to mention, finally getting a proper, aroma-scented shower...

"It's like an hour with all the traffic," Timmy scratched at his pocket, as if he wanted to check his phone for who knew what. Not happening anytime soon, brother.

"Hmm." This was a very intriguing scenario. But what if this newfound karmic justice was cut short? What if it turned out these people were just crazy bastards who'd escaped some government mind control program, or something, and he was just lucky enough to stumble across them and not actually ordinary, non-experimented people?

It was possible.

In fact, so much was possible.

But like it was mentioned before; Boris was the type of person who liked to view himself as having nothing to lose. It made choices a lot easier that way, too.

He decided he would join this young attractive trio and see what twisted ploys would naturally be concocted on the way. Maybe encounter some of their own hot friends, and miss birthday girl, whoever she was. Though, the possibilities now were not limited to just them. Boris looked at Timmy, Marissa, then Leslie. They were all ripe for the picking, and Leslie was fixing her hair, panties no longer in her hands, meaning the gotdamn girl probably put 'em on. Yeah that was hot. And so was the prospects of other fresh young 20-year-olds.

The noodle went stirring. Was it partytime? Or should he have them take him somewhere else for the night?