Breeding the Help Ch. 04

My big dick was throbbing at full mast and pointed straight at her beckoning sex.

Maria teased me, biting her lower lip as she spread her feet wider apart, her belly so large, so gravid and distended between her legs. She bent further over, making her sexy ass spread open a little, like she were offering me my choice of holes. Maria took her index finger, ran it slowly and deliberately over her wet slit, and sucked it into her mouth with a moan.

I watched, entranced, gripping the base of my cock as it began to drool precum onto the carpeted hotel room floor.

My mare pulled down her panties, revealing her furry pussy, swollen, veiny lips glistening with wetness, black hair slick with her juices. The folds were already pulsing hungrily, as if her sex needed my big white cock to fill it. A glistening string of her desire lewdly connected the panties and her cunt as Maria slipped out of them and let them drop around her ankles. With a grunt, she widened her stance even more in preparation to take my big length.

I could smell her pussy -- musky, raw, fertile, woman. The sight of Maria presenting was more than I could handle, and I closed the distance between us as she turned her head and grinned lifting her ass and bracing for it. I pulled off my clothes and unceremoniously hilted her in one savage, brutal thrust, gripping her wide hips like a man possessed.

"Oh my goooott," Maria hissed as her head lolled back, a dreamy smile spreading on her lips from the sensation of being stretched wide by my dick. "You white horse cock feels so good...uunghh..."

She moaned in delight as she felt me pushing against her cervix with each stroke, her pregnant stomach bouncing with the rhythm. It was heaven being inside my beautiful Filipina's hot, tight cunt, but she was already crying out, the heat of her pussy sucking at my length, making it throb. Neither of us could last long as we selfishly ached to quench our pent-up lusts, fucking her deep and frantic like a rutting stud just to fill her with seed, my heavy, swollen balls slapping against the outside of her cunt. Maria's pussy clenched tight, starving for the cum it had been denied for the duration of our travels. My Filipina's hips gyrated, making me gasp with pleasure, her head turned towards me so I could see her open, hungry mouth as I fucked her from behind. I was lost in the ecstasy of the moment. I came hard just as she did, her cervix milking and squeezing every last drop out of my balls as it sprayed deep inside her fertile cunt.

We fucked three more times that night before we passed out on the bed, Maria urging me on with the warning that we might not be able to satisfy ourselves so openly when we got to her village, not before the wedding. When we were done, we were covered in sweat and the room stank of the sweet spiciness of our sex, thighs sticky with our shared desire. Our fingers were locked as we lay together on the queen bed, my Pinay's small hand holding my big palm in hers.

"Tomorrow," Maria murmured, the feel of my hot sperm oozing out of her womb and dribbling onto the sheets making her shiver with lust as she spoke, "my family will know you are my man."

I put my hand possessively over her large belly, smiling with hooded eyes. One look at her hugely pregnant state was all they needed to see.

Maria chuckled, turning in to snuggle against me, my hands going to the sides of her stomach to hold my gravid, pregnant lover against me. My lover gave my arm a little squeeze while her warm, brown eyes looked deeply into mine. Maria she leaned forward to cover her mouth with mine, kissing me tenderly.

"You sleep. I need to piss."

I laid back on the bed as she left me with a saucy little grin, waddling in that sexy, knocked-up way of hers into the bathroom to close the door. The sound of a toilet lid slamming down and her stream hitting water was a familiar one.

When she returned, my sexy little broodmare gave my spent cock a gentle stroke before letting me go for the night, our exhaustion finally overcoming the desperate need for each other. Maria passed out soon after to snuggle and cling heavily to me with a pillow between her legs. While she snored lightly, I stared up at the ceiling, unable to sleep with all the excitement and anxiety racing through my head. Tomorrow would be another big, life-changing day.

****

The journey from Davao to Maria's village of Barangay Alon started in this private car that we rented to make the trip easier on Maria in her condition. I piled all the luggage into the trunk of the old Honda Civic while she negotiated with the driver in lively, sassy Tagalog.

"Okay! He know the way," my lover beamed. "Maybe 6 hour, it's a long drive to the village."

Maria and her oversized pregnant belly settled into the backseat as the driver got into the front, a dark-skinned Filipino with a wispy goatee, wife-beater, shorts and flip flops, an old and worn baseball cap on his head. A Marlboro filter dangled from his broken lips as he looked back at me and Maria with a little smile. The car's interior was fairly clean but smelled like old sweat, incense, and cigarettes, but I didn't mind too much -- nothing a rolled-down window wouldn't fix. As the car coughed and ground into gear, the stained-glass image of a trio of saints jangled from the driver's rearview mirror while an eclectic crowd of faded baseball player bobbleheads nodded frenetically.

The car rattled as it pulled out from in front of the hotel and into the vibrant chaos of Davao, honking and lurching through swarms of scooters, carts, pedestrians, and a jumble of traffic. The city was a lot poorer than Bangkok, a dirt-brown and concrete sprawl of have-nots eking out an existence with a joyful hustle, working hard to provide for their families even though they had so little themselves -- with everything else slurped up by people like my parents.

Or me.

For probably the first time, I felt self-conscious as we drove through the congested traffic, jostling with garish jeepneys and vans painted with comic book characters, bedraggled, syndicated child beggars clamoring at our windows whenever we stopped at an intersection for too long. Some of them laughed, smearing and smacking the glass, others too strung out to do anything but stare with hollow eyes. One of the older girls, maybe 10, had a baby on her back. Poverty was everywhere, even though the people seemed so cheerful.

Trying to see past my own towering privilege and entitlement was a scary thing. If I looked too deep inside myself, I'd come face to face with just how much I was like my parents. Maybe worse. It made me feel ashamed, especially sitting next to the love of my life -- this was her tribe, her people. I wasn't any better than them, just born luckier, like our kids would be. As we drove through the shouting, pleading crowd of urchins, I squeezed Maria's hand. She had a sad look but smiled at me reassuringly, somehow knowing what I was thinking.

"You know," Maria said softly, looking out the window, "after Sir-Madaam find out I pregnant, Madaam wan give me three hundred thousand baht to quit and go back to Angeles City. She no tell Sir."

My eyes widened. "Shit, that's a lot of money."

"Yes. Much more than one year salary," Maria admitted. "But I say no, I want stay, work. I care you family. Madaam hate me, but maybe she know then I not try get money from Sir for baby."

I was silent.

"I don't care money, I stay because I love you, because you good man. I not tell you before because you get mad. Now we home, it no matter anymore. You here with me. Our babies have they daddy."

I felt a brief swell of renewed loathing towards my mother, but that kind of shitty, clandestine deal was totally in character for her. And Maria was right. It didn't matter anymore. Mother didn't matter anymore.

Maria held my hand to her protruding bump and kissed my cheek. She stroked my cheek with the backs of her fingers as we left their smiling, hopeless kids behind.

I could feel the flutters and kicks of her gravid womb under my palm as the twins reacted to my touch, but all I could think about were those kids and their hungry eyes. Is that where my children would be if I hadn't changed? If she was alone, without any money? It was a heartbreaking thought, and only steeled my resolve to do the right thing by my new little family, now and forever.

"No need feel guilty, Carl," my woman whispered to me, knowing me so well. "It okay."

It wasn't all poverty. As we left the crumbling squalor of the city, Davao's concrete maze gave way to a rolling green landscape of hills, palms, terraces, and farms. Rice paddies in every stage of green stretched as far as the eye could see. Some had been harvested, creating brown and barren squares of mud. Some had only recently been planted and were covered by water and green sprouts. We passed a water buffalo wallowing in the middle of one field, grazing on the rich grass, watched by its caretaker in a traditional straw hat and loincloth. A rutted dirt road ran in front of them, bisecting the main road and cutting through the terraced fields on its way up the steep slope of a forested mountain.

The highway, if you could call it that, was lined on either side by banana, mango, papaya, and avocado trees along with small shacks. The landscape reminded me of the hill tribes in Thailand we saw on school trips, the little villages that were scattered over the mountains in remote places like Chiang Rai. The road we were on was the only developed thing out here, but it gave way to sections of dirt or gravel as we drove deeper into the countryside, past motorcycles, jeepneys, farmer pedestrians and their livestock.

There were no towns on the road, just little pockets of huts clustered around little roadside marketplaces with their nipa sheds. The deeper into the rural countryside we went, the better the air smelled, rushing through my hair as I leaned onto my arm on the sill. Maria chatted excitedly with me about growing up here as a child, about her family, and her village. The hours passed by and we listened to Vincent's mixtape together in contented quiet, the Walkman headset shared between us.

'One baby to another says: 'I'm lucky to have met you'

I don't care what you think unless it is about me

It is now my duty to completely drain you

I travel through a tube and end up in your infection...'

I wondered idly what it would be like to meet Maria's family. From what she'd told me about them, her parents were kind but deeply religious people. Maria's father was a fisherman who'd had a debilitating heart attack and couldn't work a boat anymore, while her mother had to take care of him almost constantly. All his medical care was funded by Maria's work as a housekeeper.

Joy was a high school senior now, like I had been, herself having just turned 18. She went to some low-end boarding school in Angeles City, with her tuition and living expenses also covered by her older sister's wage slavery. It seemed like an impossibly unfair burden for Maria, with the family's hopes pinned on Joy to go to university and get a high-paying job to lift them out of poverty. It was hard for me to wrap my mind around it all; my parents threw around the kind of money that would change their lives every weekend.

I felt anxious at the pressure of making a good first impression. Maria's mom and dad might despise me for knocking up their daughter or something. I'd probably have an easier time with Joy. She'd arrive tomorrow, in anticipation of the wedding and the birth.

Maria sensed my tension, stirring against me. I looked into her eyes, so dark and sweet and loving as her head rested on my shoulder. Her slender hand went to my thigh as she nuzzled into my neck.

'Chew your meat for you

Pass it back and forth

In a passionate kiss

From my mouth to yours

I...like...you...'

We stopped for lunch in one of the many tiny villages we'd passed, where a friendly, aging couple ran a small store and café. As we sat on a bamboo mat on the porch, the old woman brought us sticky rice, fish soup, and satsuma oranges, smiling with big gums while we ate and everyone stared at us. The only one who wasn't watching was her husband the cook, too busy whacking the shit out of a poorly plucked chicken with his cleaver to care.

Somewhere during the next few hours of the journey to the northwest coast where my lover's village was, the road just dropped off to gravel and lush green mountains rose all around us. Our driver was leaning on the horn as we crawled around tight switchbacks. The road was so bad that there were no cars or even scooters around. I thought we'd end up careening into a fucking river or down a steep bank more than once as he drove too close to the edge or too fast on the gravelly surface, but Maria just laughed, her voice echoing down the valleys.

"This the best part of the trip!" she whooped.

Finally, as the afternoon dragged shadows from the trees all around us, we turned a corner and saw the ocean and its gorgeous miles of beaches below. A little wooden sign announced we'd arrived at Maria's village of Barangay Alon and the downward incline of the road smoothed out. My Filipina leaned forward between the driver and me and pointed the way to her home, grinning at me excitedly, dark, exotic eyes wide as the wind blew through her long raven hair, wild from the open windows.

"We here!"

I had my first view of Barangay Alon as we wound down the road leading into town, a large, amorphous, shanty village clustered at the bottom of the hill and running all the way into the surf. A dilapidated wharf stretched into the sea, filled with colorful bangka fishing boats with their narrow hulls and bamboo outriggers. The beautiful beach beckoned with its white sand and crystal green-blue water, the shore filled with laughing children playing with a skinny dog, chasing each other through the shallow surf. Closer to the mountains on a plateau, I spotted the horse farms that Maria had described from her youth, but they looked mostly abandoned, with just a few horses grazing behind fences in disrepair. Haphazardly placed power and telephone lines went between the range and into the village.

There was zero logic to the arrangement of the nipa houses or the roads that connected them, but Maria guided us with certainty to her family home, her heart in her eyes as the car stopped. The house was just like every other nipa hut on the road, an A-frame of split bamboo walls and a palm thatch roof. But as we climbed out of the car, I could see a Filipino man and woman in their late 40s waiting for us on the porch. They were leathery and calloused from a lifetime of hard work in the sun. Both looked much older than their years, but I could see in their lined faces a faint reflection of the woman I knew and loved. The Floreses watched with mixed trepidation and curiosity as I started to pull our bags out of the car. My woman approached to stand in front of her parents, holding her hands over the big, rounded swell of her pregnancy.

I recognized Maria's mother, Liwanag, from the photos I'd seen. Her face was warm and friendly but guarded as she moved to hug her daughter. Maria's father, Benigno, watched us in stony, judgmental silence. He had a shallow chest under his loose white tank top, shoulders curving inwards as if bearing an invisible weight. Benigno had an unhealthy complexion, eyes sunken, hands clutching a cane. He glared at me warily while Liwanag held Maria's face in her hands, clucking about her daughter's advanced pregnancy and the twins inside her as she choked up in emotional Tagalog. Maria turned to her father and his dour frown softened somewhat as she fawned over him.

I just kept a respectful distance and tried to smile. The driver finished helping me get everything out of the trunk and after I paid him with a generous tip, he disappeared back up the road. As I stood there, I smelled the salt on the cool breeze from the ocean, the mild wind keeping the tropical heat to warm, background buzz. I felt completely out of place, yet there was a strange rightness at where I was then, there Maria, no longer in my world, but hers.

Finally, she motioned for me to come join her.

I introduced myself in well-rehearsed Tagalog. I stumbled over some of the words, my big grin faltering, but I got through it:

"Tito, Tita, magandang araw po. Ako po si Carl, ang...um...kasintahan po ng inyong anak. L-lubos po akong nagagalak at...may paggalang na maki...kilala kayo." I think I got most of the greeting out without sounding like a total asshole. It was something along the lines of, 'Dad, Mom, it's an honor to meet you, I'm Carl, Maria's fiancé. You have a lovely home.'

Liwanag was delighted and even Benigno seemed pleasantly surprised at my clumsy but heartfelt introduction. Maria's mother was just as tall as her daughter, her long braids streaked with gray as she shook my hand enthusiastically with a smile. She pulled me in for a hug that smelled faintly of fried rice, coconut, and dried fish.

Benigno didn't say much and just looked at me with his hard, dark eyes. Maria held my arm tightly as she looked at me proudly, as though my words had impressed him. Benigno just reached out for a firm, extremely calloused handshake, nodding with an expression that said he'd tolerate my presence. For now.

After a glance shared between Liwanag and Benigno, Maria's mother offered me a small knot of clean cloth containing fresh salt and garlic. "Malugod po namin kayong tinatanggap sa aming tahanan," she said. Welcome to our home.

"Salamat po," I replied with a respectful smile as I took the ceremonial gift. I was really glad that Maria prepared me for this Game of Thrones-type provincial shit, but despite the pressure, I was still all in and determined to win them over. I pocketed the pouch and hefted one of our large suitcases to lay out in front of them.

"Gifts!" I grinned in English. A new rice cooker, an electric fan, a radio, and a blender.

"Lahat ito, regalo para sa pamilya!" Maria told her parents excitedly with a big smile. Her mother and father were dumbfounded, their eyes going between the gifts and Maria as their daughter happily wrapped an arm around my waist.

I dragged all our luggage into the large nipa hut, which seemed nicer and more modern than the other ones we'd passed. Clearly some the money she'd sent home had gone into renovations and additions.

I entered to an open room with a sturdy table, chairs, a fridge, a large double bed covered in bright patchwork bedsheets and comforters, and a cabinet with a big boxy TV with rabbit-ear antennas. There were two closed doors and a third that led into a tiny kitchen that looked out through an open wall at a backyard with an outhouse and a couple of stunted coconut trees. A trio of chickens strutted through the backyard. It was seriously fucking rural and dirt poor, but honestly better than I'd been bracing myself for. I found it difficult to look down on them. Instead of feeling disgust or disdain, I just rolled with it. It was what it was, right?

We all sat down in the main room and talked, with Maria translating. Benigno moved slowly and deliberately, clearly still infirm from heart disease. The mood was strained at first but grew easier over time. Liwanag brought out a plate of fresh mango, buko pie, and suman rice cakes for us to snack on. The fruit was awesome, and while I was usually hesitant to try unfamiliar ethnic-looking food, I put myself out there and sampled the other stuff too. They were both actually really good.

Liwanag kept touching her daughter's hair and belly as she talked excitedly in rapid-fire Tagalog. They were clearly happy to see each other again. Liwanag even stroked my hand and arm occasionally. Somehow it didn't feel weird -- Maria must have been talking me up. I just did my best not to make a total idiot of myself, answering their questions, nodding a lot, smiling, and generally making it known that I was in this. That I cared. It seemed to work and by the end of the afternoon, it wasn't that awkward anymore. I was touched by how sweet and kind Maria's mom was despite all of life's hardships. We were a world apart, but Liwanag was the kind of mother I wish I had. She didn't seem to think I was a dipshit puti anyway.