Jean - The Birth of Venus Ch. 18

I knew this might be the last chance in my life to enjoy the ecstasy I always experienced riding Michael's magnificent cock. I laughed when I realized that my enjoyment was enhanced by the ecstasy my crazed aunt had slipped into my drink. My uncle joined in my laughter as he lowered my pussy onto his straining erection. We were so familiar with each other's bodies that I happily let him drop my ass down to take all of him in one quick plunge. As soon as I felt his thick black pubic hair touching my bald pussy, I ground my sex against his crotch. Oh God, it felt magnificent to be stuffed full of a big black cock.

I shuddered at the fleeting thought that Michael might be the father of the baby growing in my womb. Another even more disturbing thought quickly followed. If my aunt was to be believed, my uncle could be the father of multiple babies growing in me. My spiral into depression was interrupted by my uncle's hands on my ass, rapidly driving my wet pussy onto his steel-hard erection with a liquid squelching sound. He was fucking me so hard and fast that I was afraid he wouldn't last long enough to get me off. I released one of my arms that were wrapped around his bulging neck and drove my hand down between our sweaty bodies. My fingers found my clit, and I began rubbing it enthusiastically. Thank God, the gynecologist had managed to save my love button.

I quickly caught up with my uncle, who was racing toward his own orgasm. I exploded around his pulsing erection when he shoved a couple of thick fingers deep into my ass. My pussy clamped down on his hard cock, and he gave a shout as he came. My scream joined his as I felt him shoot his hot potent seed into my pregnant womb.

"Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck meeeee!"

I collapsed against his heaving chest. My body shook from the explosive force of our passion. Damn, my uncle was amazing! If I ever got back together with my boyfriend, I had a few new tricks to teach him. My worries quickly returned with the realization that my boyfriend would surely dump me when he learned I was pregnant with another man's child. My renewed spiral into depression was interrupted by my aunt. Damn, all that ecstasy was messing up my head.

"Come on, Jean. We're running late. You have time for a quick shower if we don't run into traffic."

When I got out of the shower, I found my aunt's all too familiar, skimpy, orange dress with the hideous purple flowers lying on the bed. I'd previously complained I didn't want to be caught dead in public wearing the disgusting garment.

"Oh, dear God. Please, Cathy, there has to be something else I can wear."

"You already rejected the alternates. If you want to go home to your mom, you don't have a choice. Don't be an ungrateful bitch. I've put up with your selfish whining all summer. I'll even let you wear one of my wigs if you promise to return it."

As much as I hated the dress, I wanted to get as far away from Santa Teresa as possible. I sighed and pulled the dress on and tied the spaghetti straps behind my neck. I already knew my aunt had no intention of providing me with undergarments. I tugged the dress down to cover my ass and looked in the mirror. My long, dark hair had been shorn at the beginning of the summer to make my flowing blond Venus wig fit better. My hair had grown back to a bit over an inch long and looked dreadful. I accepted the blond wig my aunt held out to me. It had a thick French braid that reached the middle of my exposed back. I had to laugh since the wig looked like a miniature version of my Venus hairpiece.

I noticed a small clutch purse on the bed and asked, "Is the purse for me?"

"Your uncle persuaded me to let you have it. It has your tickets and some makeup. It also has a copy of Judge Okazaki's signed order stating you fulfilled your community service obligations, and your record has been expunged. Michael added a paperback to read in case you get bored. Come on, we should have left half an hour ago."

I gave Michael a quick peck on the cheek and followed Cathy out the door. She handed me a large drink container filled with more of her famous mango margarita.

My aunt said, "Here, you'll probably need this. Ecstasy always makes me hot and thirsty."

I replied, "What drug did you lace it with this time?"

My aunt's only reply was a smile as she peeled out if the driveway. My aunt continued to drive like a madwoman all the way to Los Angeles. Fortunately, there wasn't a lot of traffic this late. The red taillights of the cars in front of us danced in my ecstasy flooded brain as we wove through the freeway traffic. I was hot and thirsty, so I kept taking gulps from my large drink. When we came over the pass into the LA basin, I was stunned by the vast sea of twinkling city lights. Now, I knew what was in the last batch of margaritas my aunt had whipped up. Besides the intense visual hallucinations from the ecstasy, I was hyper-alert, and my heart was pounding from a hefty dose of amphetamine. So much for sleeping on my redeye flight.

Chapter 52

We pulled up in front of the terminal, and my aunt said, "I don't have time to park the car and see you off. In fact, you definitely need to run if you're going to catch your flight."

She gave me a quick peck on the cheek and said, "Give my best to your dear sweet mother."

I heard her laughter as I sprinted through the entrance to the terminal. Once again, her laugh reminded me of the Wicked Witch of the West. I was thrilled to be free from the hateful bitch I had been so happy to meet at the beginning of this endless summer.

My momentary happiness ended when I rushed inside the enormous terminal and checked the display for flight 1055 to La Guardia. I had a sinking feeling when I saw 'boarding' flashing next to my flight status. My heart sank even further when I saw the gate number was 33. I hurried past the backed-up check-in counter, which was staffed by a single attendant. Fortunately, I didn't have any luggage since my dear sweet uncle had donated my suitcase and its contents to Goodwill. Even so, if I wanted to make my flight, I was going to have to run for it.

It only took a couple of steps to realize I couldn't run in my aunt's flip-flops. I slipped them off and started running again, holding them in one hand and my small purse in the other. I loved the feeling of my muscles propelling me down the long, endless terminal. I had finally broken free of the chain and choke collar keeping me imprisoned like a dog in Santa Teresa.

One of my favorite activities in high school had been running track. My specialty was the quarter-mile, and I was also on the 4 X 400 relay. Our team had gone to the state championship games, and a first-place finish for our school was within our grasp if we finished first in the relay. My lungs were burning by the end of my lap. I had done my job running stride for stride with the runner for our main competitor. All I needed was a clean handoff to our anchor, who had already taken first in the 400. I will never know what wrong on the handoff. Maybe I slowed down too soon. Perhaps she took off early. I remember slapping the baton onto the fingertips of her outstretched hand and then watching in horror as the aluminum cylinder bounced down the track. We were disqualified, and our team finished fourth overall. At the time, I thought I would never experience anything as embarrassing if I lived to be a hundred. This summer, I had experienced one embarrassing misfortune after another, until I could no longer decide on which was the worst.

After a few long strides, I realized I had a severe problem with my skimpy outfit. I wasn't wearing panties or a bra under my backless summer dress. My generous breasts bobbled and swayed with each step, threatening to pop out of the sides. I pressed one arm against my all too generous tits and began running even faster despite the imbalance caused by running with only one free arm.

The sensuous sway of the thin cotton dress on my unconstrained ass cheeks was stimulating enough, but the rough fabric bunched between my thighs and rubbed across my exposed clit with each stride. I remembered Doctor Joyce Hennessy, my gynecologist, cautioning me about the effects of clothing rubbing on my clit after she removed my burnt clitoral hood. I tried to concentrate on running as fast as I could without falling, but the stimulation of the dress on my naked flesh was so intense that my ecstasy fueled arousal began to overwhelm my control. I was so desperate to escape the city that had tormented me since the moment I arrived, that I gritted my teeth and redoubled my effort.

I was surprised at how busy the Los Angeles airport was this late on a Sunday night. Was everyone taking a redeye to make an early Monday morning business meeting? I had to weave in and out of the hordes crowding the walkway. I whimpered as I surrendered to a surprisingly powerful orgasm and staggered half-blind for a few steps. I bumped into a portly man in a business suit but didn't pause. I began running again and yelled over my shoulder, "Sorry!"

I began noticing catcalls and whistles. I assumed the sight of a young woman running through the terminal in a skimpy, bright-orange dress was enough to attract the attention of even the jaded citizens of Southern California.

I was still a dozen gates short of mine when I heard them announce the final call for flight 1055. I panicked when I saw a horde of passengers blocking the hallway in front of as they rushed off their recently landed plane. My arousal was beginning to build to another climax as I plowed into the mob. I remembered all too well from riding the big black dildo at the Exhibition that each successive orgasm would be more intense and the time between them shorter. When the second orgasm hit, it was a monster.

I lost my balance and bounced off several arriving passengers like a pinball careening off a forest of bumpers. I shrieked as I went sprawling in a flailing mass of bare arms and legs. I landed hard on my stomach, and the air in my lungs was knocked out. I curled into a ball as I gasped to regain my breath while my body convulsed in a body wracking orgasm. My purse had gone flying, and my now free hand was buried between my trembling thighs vigorously rubbing the fabric of my dress against my clit. My orgasm seemed like it went on forever.

When I opened my eyes, I found myself surrounded by a crowd of men excited by their luck at seeing a scantily clad young woman masturbating on the floor of the terminal. Their shouts blended together like the roaring of the ocean surf. I was half-blinded by flashes from a dozen cameras. It seemed everyone on the planet now owned one of those tiny Instamatic cameras released by Kodak a couple of years ago. At the Exhibition, I had been protected by the guards, and I had often witnessed them confiscated the cameras of anyone who ignored the signs forbidding photography.

Of course, in a never-ending quest for publicity, my uncle, the president of the Exhibition, had welcomed any professional newspaper or magazine photographer who asked. A Swedish movie company had spent weeks filming our every move and had returned to film the Gala. I'm sure there were enough photos and movies of me floating around the world to satisfy any deviant sex-fiend with the money to spend.

I put any concerns about my privacy out of my head and staggered to my feet. I pulled my dress down and stuffed one of my breasts back inside the top while frantically searching for my purse that contained my ticket home.

"Please help me. Oh God, I've lost my purse."

A kind stranger stopped taking photographs long enough to hand me my purse. I yelled, "Thank you," as I resumed my race. By the time I reached my nearly empty gate, I was close to another orgasm. Waiting crowds from the surrounding gates had already begun filling the empty seats.

A pot-bellied gate attendant was closing the door to the gangway when I came sprinting up. I shouted for him to please hold the door. He turned around, and his mouth broke into a grin. His gaze roamed over my body like he was stripping my dress off with his eyes.

I was sweaty, gasping for breath, and shuddering from another rapidly approaching orgasm I was fighting hard to suppress. When I reached out to give the attendant my ticket with a trembling hand, I fumbled the handoff, and the ticket floated to the carpet behind me. I watched in horror as it slid under the gate counter. I uttered a plaintive cry for help.

The gate attendant said, "Please hurry. I can't hold the flight any longer."

I got on my hands and knees to recover my wayward ticket. I saw it lying a long way under the counter. I spread my knees and turned my shoulders sideways, but my fingertips were still inches short of the ticket. I ignored a series of strange clicks. I felt a breeze on my sweaty ass. Now, I knew what all the catcalls were about. The damn elastic waistband of my aunt's ill-fitting dress had ridden up while I was running to expose the bottom of my ass cheeks. I had no idea how much I was revealing with my ass in the air, and my shoulders pressed against the floor.

I kept straining to grasp my ticket while I swept my other hand over the back of my dress, hoping to hide any exposed flesh. I was shocked when my fingers reached the bottom of my dress halfway up my sweaty ass. I continued sliding my fingers down the crack of my bare ass, and I blushed hard when my fingernails brushed across my puckered asshole. My fingertips slipped across my moist perineum and caressed my soaking wet pussy. I felt like dying when I realized my ass cheeks and pink hairless slit were on full display to the delight of the middle-aged man waiting for my ticket. The mysterious clicking was almost drowned out by murmurs from a gathering crowd.

I blushed when the gate attendant said, "Take your time. They can't leave until I close the door."

My ears burned. I had gotten used to being on display before an audience at the Santa Teresa Art Exhibition, but now I was exposing my sex to strangers in a very public airport. I felt my pussy clench from intense arousal as I pressed my spread fingers against my vulva in what was a futile attempt to conceal my most private parts. I flattened my shoulders to the floor and managed to touch my ticket, which promptly slid another inch further away.

I cried out in despair at the sight of my elusive ticket. I groaned again when my fingers brushed across my exposed clit that was hard with my intense arousal. I felt a colossal orgasm approaching with the power and speed of a runaway train barreling down a mountain track. I pressed my shaking fingers against my clit, hoping to block the shame of an all too public orgasm. Here in the Los Angeles airport, there was no wall of glass separating me from my impromptu audience that was getting louder by the minute.

I whined. "No, no, no. Oh, God, please, not now."

I lost control as my traitorous fingers automatically caressed my highly sensitive nub. I screamed as my body exploded in the most intense orgasm yet. I felt a bolt of electricity, every bit as powerful as any produced by The Engineer's device, shoot from my clit, circled my spasming vagina, and fly up to my brain where it exploded. I saw fireworks and momentarily passed out while my body convulsed on the floor.

When I came to, I was sobbing as my massive orgasm faded, "Oh God, oh God, oh God."

My crying was drowned out by the cheering of the crowd and more of the weird clicking.

I whimpered, "I can't. I just can't reach it."

I heard a thunk as the gate attendant released the brake on a caster next to my head. He effortlessly rolled the counter aside, and I snatched the wayward ticket. I managed to stand up on shaky legs and hand it to him without dropping it this time. The bastard took a couple more snapshots with his Instamatic camera. I was horrified to realize the clicking sound was from him photographing my exposed sex while I had an orgasm in front of dozens of grinning men, many of whom had their own cameras.

While the lecherous attendant took his time with my ticket, I took a second to bend over and slip on my flip flops. I heard more clicks. When I looked up, I saw his camera was pointing down the gaping top of my dress.

He kept my ticket stub while he handed me the airline's flight magazine. It was the summer edition, and the cover showed a sanitized picture of me portraying 'The Birth of Venus.'

"Could you autograph this for me? Maybe you could write For Bill, with love, Venus?"

I took Bill's pen and scrawled the requested message. As I rushed down the gangway, I heard him whistle and call out, "Great ass and tits, Venus." I was still in shock that people had recognized me and turned to flash him an unsettled smile before hurrying down the gangway.

Now that I had a chance to think, I realized that Bill wasn't the only person in the terminal who had recognized me. All of the catcalls had been directed at Venus. My headlong dash through the airport had provided numerous opportunities for my fans to snap photographs as I repeatedly exposed myself to the throngs crowding the building. I was horrified by the thought that I might be recognized as Venus wherever I went for the rest of my life.

I was still aroused and breathing hard, but at least I was safe. In a few minutes, I would be in the air, free at long last from the city that had revealed a cesspool of decadence and corruption concealed under the thin veneer of picturesque palm trees and eternal sunshine. Los Angeles was indeed the city of fallen angels, and my soul was forever stained. I was sure my mother would sense my utter depravity as soon as I walked in the door. I had no idea how I could reconcile with her once she learned about my pregnancy.