Untamed Passion

"You know, I'd like to wish you luck and all, but in all honesty, you're not likely to end up as Mrs. Ambrose. Even if Michael Ambrose is serious, I'll bet you his family won't be – the senior Ambrose especially. The most that you should really expect is to become... something like a mistress, you know? But I guess that would hurt your pride, right? It's unfortunate, but many generations have painted such things in poor light; in most circles you're only going to be seen as his mistress at best and whore at worst. I'm sorry, my big mouth really made a mess of things, I guess."

Nakina lay back heavily against her pillow, seemingly numb of body and mind; the girl noted this and felt somewhat bad about the whole event – this woman had seemed so happy and lively when she had just come in. She tried to think of anything that she seen or heard that would cheer her up. There was that one thing, she thought of at last.

"You know," she said to Nakina as she left the room, leaning at the doorway, "when Michael left your room, he seemed really happy, even excited. So maybe he is serious and you're a lucky gal. I'm not saying it means anything, but... just in case you wanted to know."

This little confession did cheer Nakina, but not much, and when Michael came to collect her later, he found her in much the same state. He watched her worriedly on the way home.

****************

Watching him as he prepared dinner, Nakina continued to replay what she had been told through her mind. Michael came and set the table, placing food, candles and wine before her. Seeing that she somewhat unresponsive, he spoke first. "What is wrong, ma Cherie?"

Nakina looked at him for a moment, then recounted all that she had been told in the hospital whilst Michael served her. When she was done, he was still for a while before he spoke. "That is all true I suppose, and it is an unfortunate aspect of this place. Life isn't usually pretty, even when something has been done with the best of intentions. Don't let it get you down though, it's not as widespread as it might sound."

"Things are always going to remain this way, unless..." he paused to fill a glass of wine, "certain brave and outspoken were to try and change the common view of things. It usually takes something like that to get things moving in a different direction."

He set the glass down, and Nakina looked up to see him smiling gently as he offered her a glass. "I really like you Michael, but I don't want to end up as a mistress, even if it is to remain with you," she said at last as she took the glass from him.

"And I don't intend that you should end up as a single mother," he toasted her, "so why don't we hurry up and make you Nakina Ambrose?"

Nakina would have dropped the glass, but Michael had come to know her well and was ready. His hand closed about her trembling fingers as the wine began to slip. "So?"

"But your family, they will..."

"Come to see and respect the woman I am in love with." he finished for her. He knew it would be harder than that, but he was willing to try and make it work.

Taking her own glass with both hands, she drank quickly, choking slightly on the alcohol. "Why are we drinking this?"

"Ah, I'm sorry, but I thought we would celebrate the baby," he explained apologetically, "and to wonderful things to come."

The glass was refilled and she drank more slowly this time, Michael watching the soft ripples along her throat. They ate in silence for the most part, with the odd question asked now and again. Nakina was not certain how to respond to the whole affair, and Michael seemed content to observe her. Near the end, the room was beginning to feel hot, and she was slightly light-headed, but at least her apprehension had faded. There was something she needed to ask him, but what was it? Something the nurse had said...

"Michael?" she queried as he began to gather the dishes, and he murmured his acknowledgement. "What is a whore?"

"Huh?" it was a stupid response and sounded dumb, even to own ears, but his brain had stopped working for a moment. She repeated the question, her tone serious. Perhaps a little too serious. It could be that she really didn't know – vulgarities was not one of the things he had taught her, and for now he was having trouble not placing the two of them in the same sentence without excitement – the tragedy of the male libido, even towards the woman he loves and respects.

"Well..." he began, and then proceeded to give a polite definition of the word. He nodded in pride at his quick thinking, but it back-fired on him almost immediately.

"So, that would mean that I really am your whore," she said softly. Why, thought Michael, for he could not tell whether he should be excited or ashamed, and his definition had been so balanced that to deny it now would make him look like a fool. Well it is technically correct, he thought vehemently.

"But only in the privacy of the bedroom," he quickly amended, as a wild vision of Nakina sharing this to all and sundry assailed him. He looked at the table, and saw that the two bottles of wine he had brought were empty. It was little wonder the conversation had taken such a provocative turn.

"Let me help you with that," she all but whispered. Michael felt relieved and disappointed when she began to lift the remainders of the dinner from the table. This is not the time, he told himself sternly, but it was becoming impossible to ignore the charms of Nakina Owusu.

By the time she had cleared the table and had finished washing the dishes, Michael came into the kitchen, switching off the lights as he did so, leaving only the dim light of the moon and the soft yellow light that came through the doorway for them to see by. He pushed up against her in the semi-darkness, pinning her waist against the sink. She must have felt the same as he did, for she made no protests, nor asked any questions of him. Instead, she reached behind to pluck his shirt from his jeans whilst he groped her body.

When he was shirtless, she turned around to run her hands along his face and chest. "You are so strong and handsome Michael, I should not be involved with a man like you." she murmured, inebriation inducing lust and self-pity in turns..

"Do not be foolish," he chastised her softly. "There is no woman I want more in this world than you."

As was her wont in the privacy of the home, Nakina wore a traditional dress from her homeland of thin fabric, and her nipples strained visibly beneath. With a rough hand, he reached within and freed one of her breasts. Already a large woman, her breasts now seemed heavier, with a faint trace of veins beneath the stretched skin. He gave the sensitive nipple a cursory lick and she whimpered, for her bosom had become quite tender, and even the light fingers he ran over the surrounding skin caused her to shudder.

Lifting the folds of her dress, he reached beneath, between her legs to touch her through her undergarments. It was already slick with her juices – evidence that she had been aroused for some time now. Michael's erection strained as though it would burst through to reach her. He hooked the material of her garments aside and pushed his fingers within. Her body writhed with sudden orgasm that his flickering tongue had built and his fingers released.

She leaned against him heavily, her legs trembling. They stumbled to the kitchen table, where he lay her down upon it and began to undress himself whilst Nakina watched him. Unclothed, he still had the firm figure he had when they had first met him, but he had trimmed extremely since and his erection now seemed larger than ever. Since he had been away, Nakina had not paid too much attention to herself, and when Michael lifted her dress and pulled off her panties, her bush was thick and dishevelled. The lips surrounding her cleft was swollen, and with her naked body in view, she was a picture of the elemental woman.

Michael set his fingers back into her sex and placed his tongue upon her swollen nub. She watched him over the gentle bulge of her stomach, a pale oval between her dark legs, sighing gently, moaning as he touched her deeply. His free fingers played through the crisp kinks of her pubic hair, whilst she ran both her hands through the soft silk on his head, and she cursed him softly in her native tongue as he ate her alive. Then he began to use his tongue to penetrate her whilst he stroked the heavy mound of her stomach and Nakina released his hair to grip the edges of the table, as a series of spasms took her, and she tried, vainly, to stifle the sounds of her pleasure until it subsided.

Without his consent, she slid off the table and took him by the hand to the leather couch in their living room. The room was quiet, except for the buzz of the air-conditioner that worked against the humid heat of the night. There she saw that he had painstakingly lighted dozens of small candles about the room, which was the source of the faint illumination.

Provided with a clue to the puzzle, she settled him down, and he felt the chill of the soft brown leather couch against his sweating back and shivered. She straddled his chest and Michael kissed her belly as his hand clutched at her plump backside, teasing her occasionally. When she was ready, she clutched his shaft and guided herself upon it. The two months had seemed a long, lonely eternity and she gave out a cry as she was stretched, shivering as she heard his deep groan. Leaning forward slightly, her hanging breasts brushed along his chest, and her round stomach pressed lightly against his. His expression left no doubt that he was in love.

"Michael, why me?" she asked that question, so incomprehensible to men. "You could have chosen a woman more suited to you."

"You mean a white woman?" he said roughly, almost harshly. "It is true that I could avoid a lot of problems by doing so, but if it comes that easily, it probably isn't even worth the effort. You, on the other hand, are worth the effort."

He began to thrust heavily into her. "You may be an African woman, but what of it? Isn't your body reacting as it would any other man?"

"But never like this!" she confessed with a gasp. Michael gave an embarrassed grunt, but took a firm hold of her hips and began to thrust harder, rocking her gently with his efforts.

"Then it just goes to show that your body is more honest than you are," he informed her with a husky growl. "Here is the proof. Your body was quite willing wasn't it? Now your carrying our baby."

Dazed as she was, she understood that they were no longer having sex for pleasure, but were coupling to confirm their commitment to one another. She clutched his head between the globes of her breasts, and she looked towards the ceiling, but her eyes were blind as she concentrated on the heavy wet thrusts between her legs.

Michael watched her for some moments, before he ran light fingers across her stomach. Clothed, her bulge would not be noticeable, but it wouldn't be long before it showed. He had always expected this to happen, but had always decided he would convince her to get an abortion when it happened. Only, now that the moment was upon him, he did not want that to happen. He apologised mentally to her for having thought of it.

It had always seemed to him that Nakina was one of the most beautiful women in the world and she would never get better. Yet pregnancy had transformed her and she was now aglow with the proof of womanhood, which in turn tapped into his masculine instincts.

"I want you to always be with me Nakina Owusu," he groaned beneath her.

"I won't leave you Michael," she promised urgently, "ever."

To make her point, she leaned forward against him, pressing her swollen stomach against the flat of his, and imparted her obligation: "As your wife, I have a duty to you and our child. All of them."

"All of them?" he queried with a raised eyebrow.

"The one now, and the ones that will come later." In the African countryside, a woman's desirability was determined by her fertility, a thought that carried unconsciously through her mind now. Though they were both young, the few years she had on him made her worry that her biological clock would run out before he was ready for it – she had to use the time available to her to make use of her lover's extra virility. She kissed him deeply, as if seeking penetration by other means.

As they made love, neither of them worried about the future, other than the one they were working to create. Michael doubted that his father would accept their union, let alone that he had place his seed inside an African womb, but their mutual feelings toward one another was all the legitimacy he needed to justify his actions. If need be, he could take his black lover, and soon-to-be-wife, away and live abroad with her. Spending the rest of his life in her loving embrace was quite appealing.

Whilst Michael made his plans for their future, Nakina made her own. Again, her thoughts were turned towards keeping herself attractive for her lover. Even if she was not be entirely successful, she would strive to keep herself attractive for him, so that it was always her bed that he came to. She was certain that he would love her no matter what, that he would make love to her through long sweaty nights and place in her loins the fruit of his desire.

Looking down, she saw that he was still stroking her belly. She placed a slender dark hand atop of his and suddenly felt a small jerk within her. Foreign white seeds had been planted in the black earth of her womb, had taken root, and was growing with surprising vigour. She jerked her groin against him. There was no mistake; he had put his child inside her.

"Michael, I need you now," she growled, sweat stinging her eyes. "I want it. All of it – your essence, your touch, your love, you child!"

He groaned sympathetically with her, his eyes tightly shut. His body had been as tense as hers for sometime now – the prolonged pleasure was now turning into a burning frustration, wearing out their bodies, threatening them with a release as catastrophic as an eruption. Though their bodies were cool from sweat, fiercely chilled by the air-conditioning, they both felt unbearably hot within.

Like a pebble that doesn't mean to set off the avalanche, Michael set his lips to suckle her breasts and Nakina felt a throbbing clench deep within her, realising with wonder that it was her womb. Only, it didn't stop there, and the rippling avalanche tore downward fiercely, overwhelming anything that lay in its path. That avalanche, in turn, set off the volcano, which erupted with a heavy spurt of searing white lava.

I love you.

Nakina, who had cried out in climax, dug her nails into his back and her teeth into his shoulder as she felt the powerful geyser splash against her cervix, and her body shuddered over and over. Michael did not feel those raking nails, lost in his own world of excruciating pleasure, but seized her with a force that might have made her wince at another time.

I love you.

Finally he settled back on the couch, flinching from the abrasions on his back, the scars of which he would bear to his last days. Sliding off of him, the lips of her vagina remained parted from having been stretched apart for so long. Beside him she settled, a heavy leg across him, holding him in place. They kissed deeply, their tongue and jaws working slowly against each other until they fell asleep in each other's arms.

****************

The months went by slowly, almost lazily, and Debra could still remember those gentle days. Time had been spent to prepare their life for the new arrival, and despite the pregnancy, their sexuality had not diminished, only adjusted. Then their days of bliss finally came to an end.

Both Michael and she had been naked and asleep when the door to their apartment was smashed by masked men. Michael had awoken instantly and had sprung from bed only a moment later, but she had been confused with fright and shock. She could not remember clearly how many there had been, but Michael held out with violence surprising for such a gentle person, before one of them clubbed him from behind. Flinching, she expected brutal rape and death, but instead a thin piece of cloth was pressed upon her face. That was all.

When she finally awoke, a whole month had passed and she was again in hospital. Debra could still remember how she had cried herself hoarse when she found that her baby was gone, taken from her whilst she lay unconscious. Nor did she eat or drink, until doctors forced her onto the drip. Despite the horrifying situation, she was young and clung to life, finally finding the strength rebuild her shattered dreams. She could not bear to remain as Nakina Owusu and had married, changing her name thereafter.

Of Michael, she would not see him for another eight years. She had moved on since then, and, it seemed, so had he. Though she knew her own suffering had been great, she could only now wonder as to what he had been through, for he seemed a much older man and his hair was sprinkled with grey. He was now married to a pretty Japanese woman and had a young boy at his side.

Though her first thought was to keep him away, they had once shared such a deep and soulful union that she still wanted to see him, even if it would bring painful memories – in her mind at least, he was still her first husband. In private, he then apologised deeply to her, even though the fault had not been his, and explained to her things, which, for the most part, she had already began to piece together.

Michael had made a mistake in not returning home immediately after his two month trip. His father, Albrecht Ambrose, had then searched for the whereabouts of his errant son and inadvertently stumbled upon the love affair. The months that had passed, he spent in investigation, before deciding he would not allow the conclusion of that relationship, let alone Michael's intended marriage plans.

Though she wanted to ask about their child, it proved far too painful, and she suspected Michael would have already done everything he could to find out where he or she might be. Since he said nothing, even seemed to avoid the subject... Despite herself, she had cried. When her tears had dried, he continued: Albrecht had taken him and sent him from the country the very next day, sending him as far as he could. Afterwards he had met his wife of present, after his father had pointedly told him that failure to move on with his life might result in the deterioration of her health.

Debra sighed heavily and turned off the television, heading for her room. She did not turn on the lights, for Denis was already asleep, and now she slipped beneath the covers beside him. She considered that she had been fortunate to have found him, so shortly afterwards. Though he did not inspire the same fire, he was nothing short of a wonderful husband that left his family wanting for nothing. In that context, she apologised to him silently, for shortly after their reunion she had resumed a lengthy affair with Michael, for whom she still smouldered for.

The days that followed had been mellow and golden. Then, a few years after it had begun, Michael was gone from her life again, this time forever. A car crash had killed both him and his wife; their boy survived from the efforts of his mother, who shielded him from injury with her body. Debra had wanted to comfort the him, but she had no access and soon she would have children of her own to worry about.

Lying in bed, she wondered what her daughter would be doing now. Undoubtedly she would be out with her friends at this point to celebrate her eighteenth birthday. Would David be there as well? It might have been as well to tell Vanessa to be cautious in her dealings with him, but it might just make her more curious. Sometimes Debra felt that the story between Michael and her was trying to play itself out through their children.