That Damned Blessing Ch. 01

Jess arched an eyebrow. "I don't think your husband would approve."

"Fuck him. No, seriously, you can fuck him to distract him and I can pop your boy's cherry. It's a win-win."

"I'm afraid you're a couple years too late to pop anything," Jess said, sipping a Toohey's. "And besides, he's been spending every moment with Lexy Garza. I doubt he has any energy left."

"But he's never had a real woman! I can show him things that Lexy Garza hasn't even heard of. Like, I do this thing with my tongue --"

"Trish, there aren't enough 'nos' in the world for this conversation."

"C'mon."

"No."

'C'mon!"

"No!"

"C'mooooon..."

Alcohol was consumed. Time passed.

"No, so seriously, listen," Ryan said with tremendous gravity. "What Rano Rato...Ratu...Ranu... fuck it, you know what I mean. What this place needs is a water park."

"They're building one," Lexy assured him with equal gravity; her English was now heavily Spanish accented. "It's part of el gran resort."

"No, right, no, but...like, they should build another water park. They could like take one of the small islands and make it a water park. Whole thing."

"I don' think they need two."

Ryan looked down into his whiskey and considered that very deeply, then looked back up at Lexy and stated his well-reasoned counterpoint: "Let's go back to my room. I am so fucking horny right now."

Lexy laughed sloppily. "You too drunk to do anything, chico."

"No I'm not!" he protested, although currently it was only the wall he was leaning on that was keeping him sort of upright. "I'm just a little...um...I'm horny!"

Lexy giggled. "Vas a vomitar sobre mí. It would be gross."

He laughed. "I don't speak Spanish, babe!"

"Oh, I know. I am very drunk too. But I don' wanna be with you if you puke up all..." She waved her hand in a vague circle to indicate everything from her hair to her waist. "All over. Me. All over me."

"I'm not gonna puke!' he protested. "An' if I do it only takes a few seconds."

"You. Need. To go. To bed." she said, jabbing her finger repeatedly into his chest for emphasis. The force of it nearly knocked Ryan down. "Solo, dulce chico."

He frowned. "Solo?"

"So. Lo. But tomorrow I make up to you."

That brightened him. "Promise?"

"Promise. All day for the big hero."

"Well. OK. In that case, I'll go to bed." He pushed his shoulder off the wall, went vertical, and then kept going until he pitched right into the sand, looking around with utter bafflement at his sudden change of posture.

A few seconds later, Paul was there above him, a smile on his face and his hand outstretched. "That's enough for you buddy. Let's get you back to the hotel."

Ryan found himself hauled to his feet and making his way across the beach toward the hotel, his father bearing most of his weight and keeping him on a more or less straight path. After a few seconds, he admitted. "Dad, I think I might have drank too much."

"I concede the possibility."

"Huh?'

"You're drunk off your ass, son."

"Oh. Yeah. I am."

"You earned it," Paul said, then added with a grin, "And you also earned your hangover."

"You think I'm gonna have a hangover?"

Paul snorted. "Let's just wait and see."

Ryan really didn't think he was drunk enough to have a hangover the next morning, and he was just about to say so when he suddenly dropped to his knees and vomited. Paul let him finish, helped him to his feet, and kicked sand over the offensive pile, asking, "Feel better?"

"Yeah, a little," Ryan admitted. "I probably should go to bed."

Ten minutes later they were in Ryan's room. Ryan was only wearing a button-down shirt and baggies, so it didn't take long for him to get down to his underwear. Paul made sure his son was lying on his left side, using his left arm as a pillow and with his right knee pulled up to keep him from rolling. Some skills acquired in college never left you, like the ability to best position drunks for a safe night's sleep. Ryan protested that he wasn't really very tired, and three minutes later he was snoring. Paul propped him in place with pillows and blankets and made his way back to his own room.

"-- so he'll be paying for it in the morning." Paul said. He was sitting up in bed with his work tablet on his lap, but he wasn't reading the progress report on the screen; he was watching his wife as she sat at the vanity. He loved to watch her prepare herself to go out, or to go to bed, or to do just about anything. He loved watching her.

Jess was diligently removing her foundation. She wasn't drunk -- she'd confined herself to beer and had nursed three over the course of the evening -- but she was definitely buzzed, which meant that she needed to pay special attention to the hairline and the area around the ears or she'd wake up with makeup on her pillow. Not that she had to clean the pillowcases here, but still. It was the principle of the thing. "We all had our first brutal hangover once," she said, a faint smile showing at the corner of her mouth. "He'll live, and he'll learn what it feels like."

Paul nodded. "I just hope I feel better tomorrow. This headache's been beating me up all day long."

"I know, sweety. It's wonderful that you got everyone together for a party for Ryan anyway in spite of all that. He'll always remember it...the parts before he got too drunk, anyway. I know it meant the world to him."

Paul watched for a few more moments, then said, "You're just as pretty without the makeup, you know."

"Is that the breezy feeling of smoke being blown up my ass?" she asked, her eyes narrowing and darting to his reflection in the mirror.

"I mean it. I love that your face is the first thing I see in the morning. You worry about makeup and all that, but you're as perfect when you don't do anything as you are when you spend however long getting everything just right."

"Hmmph." She knew he was BSing her (even if he believed it himself, which he probably did) but she was a little tipsy and in the mood to be flattered. "If you didn't have a headache I'd swear you were trying to get laid tonight."

"You cut me, woman. I only speak the truth."

"Well it's too bad you aren't trying to get laid tonight, because I'm frisky as heck."

"Oh, now you really cut me. A headache and I miss sex with the hottest woman on the island. Worst night ever."

She dropped her washcloth, crossed the room, and climbed onto the bed, the front of her dress dipping low to show massive amounts of massive cleavage. "I have to tell you the craziest thing."

He arched an eyebrow. "Is it about Trish Hendricks? Because she tried to convince me to let you distract her husband while she dragged Ryan off --"

"No, not that Southie lush!" Jessica laughed. "It's about what happened when we brought the boy back to his village." She launched into the tale, describing Adouwe and the old woman, the preparation for the blessing, the villagers gathering and singing, the chanting, the breathing smoke.

"That sounds fantastic, honey!" Paul said. "Why didn't you tell everyone that?"

She was grinning from ear to ear. "Because after it was over, Ryan asked Adouwe what the blessing meant, and guess what? It was a fertility blessing."

Paul burst into laughter. "Oh we're really lucky Trish didn't get Ryan alone then, he'd have knocked her up for sure! She'd have divorced her husband for him and we'd have that booze sponge for a daughter-in-law!"

"No, not for him," Jess said. "For us. For me and him. Adouwe thought we were married!"

Paul looked baffled. "Like...to each other?"

"Yes!" she laughed, slapping her hands on the bed. "Can you believe it?"

He looked like he was indeed having a hard time believing it at that. "What kind of fertility blessing are we talking about here?"

"Oh, the usual."

He grinned. "I have to admit, my experience with fertility blessings is more limited than yours. What constitutes a usual one?"

"Just that we'd be in love forever, always have the hots for each other, crank out lots of kids. You know, the usual."

"Well, shit. And here I thought our marriage was going so well."

"Glad you think so, because I think so too.".

"I dunno, he's younger than I am, a lot better shape. You could do worse."

"Oh, I'm sure he's just eager to forget about little Euro-princesses and jump the bones of a 45-year-old woman!" she laughed. "Oh, and let me tell you what happened then..."

When the telling was done and she was lying curled up next to her husband, his arm around her shoulder, he mused, "So I don't have anything to worry about, my son stealing my wife?"

"I think I can safely say that will not happen, dear."

"Hmmm. Maybe the magic blessing is why I have a headache tonight. It's trying to keep us apart."

"I tell you what, mister You wake up without that headache tomorrow and I will send you to work with the biggest smile you've ever had. How about that?"

"Promise?"

"Anal."

"Sweet Christ, I hope I don't have a headache tomorrow morning."

Milwaukee. Home. Living room. White light from outside, neither sunlight nor clouds. White curtains billow. The Woman stands in the middle of the room, young, perfect, with chocolate-brown hair spilling in waves over tanned, flawless shoulders and up onto breasts that are large, full, impossibly high and firm. She runs a delicate hand over her flat stomach, feeling tension there, not nerves but something more. The tension felt when one is approaching one's destiny.

The Man comes -- or was he there all along? Tall, hard body with angular planes, strong, lithe, virility etched in every contour. As young as the Woman or as old, or as eternal. His gaze falls upon her, takes her in, top to bottom and back up, every curve. He can smell her readiness for him, the scent sweet and delicate in the air, and he knows her arousal belongs to him and to him alone.

Her eyes attack him like a panther, sweeping over his body, the powerful shoulders, the rippling abdomen, the muscular calves. Then back up, back to his cock, erect and boastful as it juts out; it is perfection, steel-hard and ready for her and only for her. She knows how it will feel when she touches it, yet she has never touched it. She knows how it will taste, yet she has never tasted it. She knows how it will feel as it plunges inside her, opening her, owning her, yet she has never taken it inside her, for she is once more as virginal as a newborn. She is a girl still, a girl again, and it is the Man's cock that will finally make her a woman.

But not yet, It is not time for that yet.

They are together now, body against body. Who crossed to whom? Or had they always been together, always been touching?

The Woman lays a hand on his shoulder and feels the power there, pure masculinity, the ideal man. Slowly she runs her hand down his arm, feeling the strength in his muscles, knowing his strength belongs to her and owns her, both at the same time. His skin is flawless. He is flawless, new-made, unspoiled. Just as she is. New-made Woman and Man, Woman for Man, Man for Woman.

The Man lays a hand on the Woman's side, just below her arm. He feels her heat, hotter now for him. He feels her heartbeat and knows that his beats in the same time. Had it always been that way? Was there a time before they were together? It didn't matter. He moves his hand down her body, feeling it narrow as he descends to her waist and then flare again at the hip, wide and magnificent. And between her legs -- though he does not touch it yet -- is soft, wet, warm, ready for him always, ready to take him in and then, nine months later, bring forth what they had made together.

But not yet, It is not time for that yet.

They kiss. This is the first time they have kissed but their movements are certain and strong. She sighs as she feels his lips on hers. It is for this reason that her lips were made, this reason and one other. Their tongues meet at the junction of their mouths and rest together for a moment, the feeling of unity after an eternity apart -- or had it been an eternity together? Their tongues move now, start to dance together, each caressing and teasing and coaxing the other, first in her mouth and then his, back and forth. Faster and stronger, more heated as their heats mingle to make something greater than either of them could ever have made alone.

Hands move, touching, stroking with fingertips and with palms. The Man groans with pleasure as he touches the Woman's breasts, so large, so firm. Her areolas are pink disks around large nipples, and it is her turn to moan when he closes one between thumb and forefinger to squeeze and tug, the sensations rippling through her body. A tremble passes through her, raising goosebumps on her skin in its wake and making her arch her back to press her breasts more firmly into his hands. She tries to form words against his lips, but another tug of her nipples and the words vanish in a gasp of inarticulate physical delight.

She is not idle while he makes her moan. Her hands drift down, across soft skin and iron muscles rippling in his back, until they find the Man's ass. She takes it, one cheek in each hand, and squeezes it. The muscles are so firm that there is almost no give. Between their bodies his hard cock leaps against her stomach. Their gasps into each other's mouths come simultaneously and she pulls him even closer so their bodies hold his shaft upright. She feels it with a shudder of anticipation: she can tell its length, and she knows how deep it will go into her body when he slides it inside her tight, spasming, virginal pussy. Both know that it will give them such joy that nothing else could even compare --

But not yet, It is not time for that yet.

Suddenly the Woman drops to her haunches with her face so close to the Man's cock that he can feel the heat of her skin on his sensitive flesh and her breath washes over it like a warm breeze. She looks at it for a long moment, eyes wide at its perfection. It is long, longer than any cock she has ever taken into her newly-untouched body, and as thick around as her wrist. It is perfectly straight, from the base all the way to the flaring mushroom head, and the flesh grows more livid with each beat of the Man's heart. She licks her lips, part virgin nervousness and part uncontainable anticipation, and wraps her fingers around the shaft,

The Man moans, cants his hips forward, moving his cock in the Woman's hand.

She lifts the shaft so that the throbbing vein that runs up the underside is exposed to her gaze. It is magnificent. Its beauty is beyond words. It is hers. She looks up at him with enormous dark green eyes and extends the tip of a pert pink tongue from between full lips to touch the underside of the shaft at the very spot it meets his heavy, full balls. His eyes lock with hers, and for a moment Man and Woman stare into each other. She presses her tongue against him and licks slowly from his balls to the beautiful head, then around in a dexterous swirl of her tongue, and then back down again. The Man says something, gives some voice to his joy, but his words reach her as a distant murmur. They don't matter, not here, not now, not anymore.

The Man watches as she licks around the head again, once, twice, and he notices that the Woman's free hand has gone between her legs -- not to get herself wet but because she is so aroused that she needs to feel something, anything, against her dripping sex. When she licks back down to the base of his cock her face is almost hidden behind his shaft, but when she comes up again her eyes are burning with lust for him. She swallows his tip, locking her dark red lips around it and letting her tongue dance under and over it, flick at the hole, caress. And then she takes him deeper, inch by inch, never hesitating. It looks impossible that she will fit him all into her mouth, but they both know that she can and will, this time and countless times in the future. Because this is the other use for her mouth besides kissing, and her lips belong around the base of his shaft -- and in only a few moments that is exactly where they are, and her nose is buried against his body. She holds there, eyes still on his, and inhales his scent even as she tastes him.

He speaks again, words of praise, words of encouragement, and he says her name in a tone of adoration that thrills her. She slowly releases him, drawing her mouth back along each inch of him. The Man sees that the Woman has placed a dark red lipstick ring around the uttermost base of his cock, and he knows that she has claimed him as her property -- just as he will claim her as his. He smiles and whispers her name again, and she shivers all over from delight.

She takes him down again, then back up, then down again, over and over, letting her tongue dance over every little part of his shaft, letting him slide into her throat, letting his pubes tickle her nose. She could bring him to climax here, on her knees in front of him, and a part of her desperately wants to give him pleasure and get nothing back but vicarious joy. But she knows that he wants to please her just as much, and she desperately wants to be pleased. She eases back onto -- Pillows? A bed? Hadn't the wooden floor been beneath them only a moment before? It didn't matter. Onto her back she goes, spreading her legs to show him the sweet cleft she keeps hidden there, her dark, trimmed pubic hair glistening with her dew.

The Man pauses only a moment to admire the Woman as she lays before him, because he needs her. He needs to taste her, to drink her in, to lick up every drop and keep her wet for him forever. He goes down onto his knees between her legs and leans in to place a single kiss on each nipple. She whispers his name and twines her fingers through his hair as he begins to kiss down her abdomen, over her navel. Her hips shift with involuntary eagerness as he puts his chest against the bed and kisses the top of her mound, just where it begins to swell from the flatness of her young stomach. Then one big hand finds each thigh and pushes her legs apart, and the fullness of her arousal wafts out to him; he inhales her scent, breathing her in until his lungs are full and then breathing her in deeper still. A soft rumble of wordless joy comes from somewhere in his chest, and then he lowers his mouth to her pussy.

The moan that wrenches itself from the Woman's lips comes from the soles of her feet, from the tips of her fingers; it twists inside her and grows until it leaves her lips in a ragged, perfect exclamation of joyful lust. His mouth is so firm against her that she can feel his teeth behind his lips, feel the bones of his cheeks as he devours her. There is no delicateness in the way he attacks her, just as there had been none in how she had taken him. Other times would be delicate, but this time, their first touch as lovers, the need is all. She moans his name again and then again and again, reveling in the way the sounds feel in her mouth as much as she had reveled in how his cock had felt there, as much as he was now reveling in having his tongue inside her doing such magnificent things.

She lifts her hips against him but he pulls back only a little as she begins to grind her pussy against him, fucking his face, grinding her vulva and her throbbing little clit against his nose and mouth. He holds firm and lets her add the pleasure of her actions to that from his. He feels her body thrum, he sees the little quivers it causes in her stomach, he hears her breath sucking shallower and more ragged. And like the Woman with his cock in her mouth, he knows he could make her come this way with only a little more.