Skip didn't think he could climax again. He'd already burped his love trout four times. The last time, his ball sacks hit him with a piercing ow! like, hey, what, are you ​doing up there? The Galateas wouldn't leave him alone, though. They wouldn't let him stand. Hell, they wouldn't even let him off his back. They held a mug so that he could sip broove from a straw. Everywhere he looked, he saw Galateas, their glorious breasts, their bright-white pubic patches, their smiling faces, their loving eyes.

     I must have done something right somewhere along the line in that other dimension place, he thought, but what could it have been that I deserve all of this? 

     On the other hand, why question it?

     Time to go for orgasm number five.

CONTINUE