Chosen of the Fertility God

I had to sit down on the bed because I could no longer stand. And at waist level I reached out for him, examining the penis I'd watched from across the room so many times. I knew how he liked to be stroked, and I still remembered something of how to please a man with my mouth. I could tell from the intoxicating atmosphere of the room that he was enjoying it, but I only wanted to entice him, to get the candle burning hotter.

Then I scooted up onto the bed and laid down like a ritual sacrifice, ready for him to do what he wanted to my body. It felt like the air was crackling with erotic charge. Chris climbed up on the bed with me, his hands, so soft and slender, youthful and brown, roamed my pale, plump, middle-aged skin. And everywhere he touched, he felt familiar, and yet his touch also had that unnatural warmth, that contagious sensitivity, leaving my flesh hotter and wanting more.

As his hands roamed me freely like they'd wanted to for years, I felt his erection pressing clumsily, but enticingly, against my slit, my juices all over him as he slowly, clumsily humped me. It made me feel young again, like when I'd had my own firsts, when our bodies were great unknowns, when something in our biology was driving us to press ourselves together until we fit just right. But I wasn't a youngster anymore, and accidental pregnancy wasn't a concern. Even though Chris would sometimes brush against my clit as he pressed against me, I needed more. It was driving me mad. I reached down, and gripped his shaft, guiding him to my hole, until I felt the tip nudge its way into my folds.

"Wait," I said, wiping away a tear. "Just promise you won't disappear once I'm carrying your child," I pleaded, though he was firmly in control now.

"Not if I can help it," he said with a reassuring smile, as he pushed his hips forward. "Though I do have three semesters left, if you don't mind."

I laughed. "Three semesters? I've only got three trimesters left," I teased him back.

"Ohh..." I groaned as he entered me. As wet as I was, he slid into me easily, and I felt him reach so deep, almost to where he originally came from. The same muscles that had once pushed him out now wrapped around him, drawing him back in.

Gradually, gently, he pushed more of himself into me. It had been years since I'd been properly fucked, and about 22 years since I'd been fucked quite like this. I had often felt like the years had worn on me, but being with him made me feel different. Not so much like feeling young again, but like my body was suddenly reawakening to what it was built to do.

With every stroke he brought me to new heights, with every withdrawal I yearned even more to feel him in me again, to feel him press deeper. I squeezed my muscles around him, and I could tell by the sharp intake of his breath that he felt it. The perfect way he and I fit together, I could have stayed like that forever, even as I started to feel the urgency of a climax building.

His breathing was starting to get shorter. "I'm sorry, I don't think I can last much longer."

"That's normal," I said. I hadn't even been thinking about the fact that this was his first time. From the intensity of his effect on me, it was hard to believe. "You know it doesn't matter. When you cum, I cum too."

"But you said never to make you orgasm without your consent," he teased.

"What you're doing to me is going to make me orgasm before long anyway," I said.

"I still need you to consent," he said, and I felt so proud of him. "Well?"

The part of me that was still doubting what we were doing, that wondered if it might not yet be too late to turn back, was feeble and faint against the overwhelming tide of Chris's arousal building in the room. With every breath I seemed to inhale more of it, my body responding even more fervently to his touch, to his presence inside me.

"I consent," I gasped, and I just kept repeating it as I felt myself approaching orgasm. "I consent. I consent!"

"I'm about to cum!" he panted, and in that precious moment I could distinctly feel him swell up within me with perfect clarity, and then the rush of his orgasm hit me hard.

As soon as his semen hit the back wall of my vagina, I contracted around him, drawing more of his sperm up out of his testes, a yelp escaping me as pleasure washed through me. Now neither of us were truly in control now, just our bodies eagerly, desperately combining themselves, our instincts on autopilot as we rode the waves of our shared pleasure. My hands dug into his back as his prick dug into my waiting, wanting flesh, as jet after jet of him flooded me.

Each wave of his orgasm crashed into me, through me, and back into him. I could tell he was feeling my orgasm as well, through the visceral, tangible feedback in my every clenching muscle, as well as through his empathic powers. Orgasming together from across the room, because of that powerful mental connection, that was one thing. Orgasming together through our joined flesh was on another plane altogether.

I hadn't realized how deeply I had needed to be had again, to be bred and mated and implanted with seed, until it happened all at once, and I felt filled and fulfilled. I hadn't realized how much I needed him specifically, my very own son, to fuck me, to cum in me, to knock me up. But that moment felt like the culmination of all those times masturbating together. Like the anticipation of this moment had been building in my flesh for years, and now it was all being released, all coming to fruition at once, like a breaking dam.

Our climaxes continued to feed back into each other, until I worried it might be more than I could take, that I might completely black out. But I didn't, not until afterwards. I was glad, so that I could be there for all of it, and feel all of it in the moment.

The first thing I did after I regained my senses was go online and book a trip down to the island, leaving as soon as possible. I didn't want anyone to suspect that I was pregnant with my son's child, so the story had to be that I went to the island and had another random, unprotected fling with an islander, and so of course the baby's going to look just like Chris. Better to be considered foolish (again) than crazy.

True to his word, Chris didn't disappear, not even after a piss test confirmed what we already knew, that I was carrying his child, likely another godling.

While we were down on the island, the local elders recognized Chris for what he was, and he spent some time helping several other couples conceive.

Eight months later, we had our baby, this time a girl. Even so, she looked to be entirely Chris's kind. I was looking forward to seeing what she would turn out to be when she grew up. We named her Angela.

I think Chris would've liked to have kept getting me pregnant from then on. But after Angela was born, my childbearing days were over, and not even a fertility god could turn back time. But that sure didn't stop him from trying anyway.