tagIncest/TabooJess was a Bitch Ch. 09

Jess was a Bitch Ch. 09


Jess woke early. She slips out of bed, dresses, and eases open the patio door. Jon doesn't budge, other than to pull her pillow close when his body, if not his mind, realizes she is no longer pressed to his belly. As always, watching him sleeping, mouth slightly open, she's struck by how young he looks. Not for the first time, she envies his ability to take what he sees, run it through the grist mill of his mind, and let it flow out of his hands and onto paper or canvas. She wants to capture him, just like this, asleep, unworried, the corner of the sheet not quite covering his naked ass. She stands in the doorway, ocean to her back, the sun barely up, memorizing his body, the sound of his breathing, and the way his hair covers his face before turning and closing the door.

A solitary couple is jogging along the beach. The cabanas haven't been opened. The chaise lounges remain in their formal lines all folded flat and seeming to bow to the ocean that races towards them but always fails, falling short, seeping into the sand or running quietly back toward the sea. Jess finds the image of unending failure depressing. She walks past the silent and intimidatingly organized mass of chairs and sits in the sand, heedless of her shorts. The sand is wet. The surf roars up and covers her feet and ankles. On occasion, an exceptional bold wave makes it all the way to her butt before sliding back. The pelicans, normally a source of fascination, move across her vision unnoticed.

The sun, its lower rim still smeared across the horizon, is already warm on her face. She closes her eyes and faces it. She sees it still, a bright yellow-orange circle on the inside of her eyelids. She squeezes her eyes shut, tight, and watches geometrical patterns spiral across her vision. She knows if she opens her eyes, the sun will blind her temporarily. If she makes herself stare at it long enough, it'll burn her retina. Would that leave her blind forever? Is she already blinded forever? Is Jon? Would another week leave them both permanently blind or simply mean it would take a bit longer for their vision to clear? Was it already too late? Was he right about that?

Face turned to the sun, she reaches out, eyes closed, for the hand she knows is there. No shadow has flited across her closed eyes. Perhaps, she'd felt some subtle change in the sand or a vibration that signals someone's approach. Perhaps. But it wasn't someone; it was Jon. She knows this without opening her eyes and eyes closed, takes his hand.

Jon has a passing awareness that the surf is more often flowing up and over his legs and that the tide must be coming in. He was very aware that Jess reached out to take his hand though he'd not said a word. He was sure that must mean something. He'd woke, suddenly, which was unusual. Without thinking, he got out of bed, pulled on the pair of boxers he'd dropped by the end of the bed the night before, and went out to the beach where he knew he'd find her. And he had.

As they sat, the sun grew warmer, the light whiter, harsher. Voices and the clatter of chairs being moved into the right position to capture the morning sun intrudes on the silence; the chatter of the world goes unheeded. It was only when the surf begins to wash up to their waists and the rushing water pulls the sand from beneath them that they bow to nature and stand. Without speaking, they walk into the water, still holding hands, and let the surf wash the sand off their bottoms. When he dives into a wave, she joins him, though she's wearing regular shorts and a tee shirt. They walk past the growing crowds, some staring. Jon stops at the wash station and washes the salt water off his body and hair before continuing to their patio. He steps out of the boxers, rinses his feet, and drapes his boxers over the patio wall. He uses a towel that was on the back of one of the chairs to dry his hair. He drapes it over the chair, turns it to the sun, and sits down, the wall hiding his nudity. Jess rinses her feet but goes inside to shower and rinse her clothes.

She stands under the shower, letting the water flow over her face as the sunshine had earlier. The water feels wonderful but it brings no more resolution to her thoughts than had the sun. She shaves her legs and armpits and then her bikini line with the special shaver she bought for this trip. She runs a fingertip over her labia, not as smooth as it was but a long way from being waxable; the spa can wait. She pampers herself, spending extra time moisturizing. Jon is not in the room. The curtain is pulled across the patio door. She pulls on a fresh bikini, one she's yet to wear, and grabs a bottle of water from the fridge. Her stomach growls. She drinks half the bottle of water and slips a cover up on over her bikini. She heads to the patio, to ask Jon if he'd like to get breakfast with her. She finds him standing in front of his easel. He's not painting. He's ripped a page out of the sketch pad he bought and has it clipped to the easel. He's fingers are already covered in charcoal. His chest is streaked with charcoal, where he's wiped his hands. The sweat beginning to run down his body turns the streaks of gray and black into an abstract checkerboard. She decides, again, she likes the sleek look of his shaved body and the contrast with his long, messy hair.

"Are you hungry?"

He shakes his head, staring at the paper. It's her. It's her on the beach, from this morning, except in the drawing she's nude. He's still nude. Yesterday, he hadn't wanted to be out here nude. Today, it would appear he hadn't given any thought to getting dressed. She can't decide if that's a good thing or a bad. "I'll bring back some coffee and fruit. Okay?" He nods. Before she can turn away, he stops and turns to her.

"Can you wait until I shower? The paper is not going anywhere."

She nods. He puts the charcoal in the box and closes the lid. He pauses to kiss her as he passes. He has morning breath but she doesn't care. She's about to sit down when he calls her. She goes inside. He's on the bed. He hands her his phone.

"I need you to take some pictures for me but I need to get hard first."

"Uh, okay, but..."

"You asked me to paint your picture, last night, remember? I don't really know what my body looks like, lying flat. I was thinking I'd draw, or maybe paint, it from your perspective but I'm not a hundred percent on that. So, take a few looking up from my feet, from either side, and then a few from above my head. Give me a second, to get hard."

"You've never taken a picture of your dick?"

He looks at her, baffled. "No, why would I?"

"Never mind. I have an idea." She puts the phone on the table. "Your dick should be wet. It looks different when it's wet." She kneels on the bed and without further ado, lifts his cock and puts her mouth over it. Quickly enough, Jon's body is tensing underneath her. She hands him the phone, moves between his legs and resumes the position she had been in the night before, holding his cock in the air with one hand, its head covered by his foreskin and the tip of her tongue teasing the V in his crown. He takes several shots and hands the phone back to her. She takes a few more, following his instructions, before putting the phone on the floor. She crawls onto the bed with a smile. "Now, where was I?"

"Turn around, Jess." She does with a smile. She settles her pussy onto his face and his cock in her mouth. She's soon distracted by the feel of his lips on her clit and the teasing finger that rubs over her pucker.

"Put your finger in me, Jon."

He slips his finger in her pussy. She starts to tell him she meant her ass when he pulls his finger out of her pussy and runs it over her asshole. She moans against the side of his cock when he enters her. His arm is wrapped around her leg. He works his thumb into her pussy and somehow manages to tilt his head to get his lips around her clit. She kisses and rubs the side of his cock and loses herself in his ministrations. She hadn't cum last night. Soon her belly begins to ache in that wonderfully maddening way. She reminds herself that the door is open and tries to remain silent. She can feel her pussy flowing. His fingers aren't thrusting as much as rubbing and circling. He sucks her clit into his mouth and begins to flick it with the tip of tongue as fast as he can. She rubs her nipples against the top of his legs and buries her face between his thigh and his ball sack and shudders as her orgasm explodes through her body. She lies there panting, pulling herself away from Jon's insatiable mouth. Only partly recovered, she makes her way to the bathroom and returns with a warm, soapy cloth and washes his hand.

She climbs back into bed and straddles his hips. She laughs. The charcoal streaks on his chest are smeared. She looks at her belly; it's covered in gray. Jon reaches between them and guides his cock between her lips and she lowers herself onto his cock. "Make me cum again, baby," she whispers against the side of his neck. He pulls his legs up and fucks her, hard, as she whispers into his ear, "Pound me, Jon, fuck me, fuck my pussy, uh-huh, that's right, oh, yeah, fuck me." He grabs her hips and holds her close as he cums, keeping his cock deep insider her and makes short hard jerky thrusts. As he begins to relax, she pulls off him, scoots back on his legs and takes his cock in her mouth. She sucks her juices and his cum off his still hard cock; her fingers slap her clit, faster and faster until she stretches out, back arched, stifling her squeals with his cock.


Gloria pushes the patio door back. Before she can step outside, the unmistakable sounds of two bodies smacking into each other reaches her. Dammit, she snaps to herself. Can't they, for the love of God, close the damn door! She'll have to head over in an hour or so to get hooked up to her antibiotics. The noise stops. Maybe they're done? Before the thought has formed the noise starts up again, more subdued. She hears a high-pitched squeal and turns to close the door. She steps aside, startled, as James goes past her. He's naked as a jay bird. He stalks down the short path and around to the kids' patio.

"I am goddamn well going to have my breakfast on my own goddamn patio and enjoy some goddamn peace and quiet," he huffs, his head turned away from the room, before sliding their door closed with a bang. He forgoes the pathway and hops over the wall that separates the two patios. She smiles; that's the James she remembers, the one she fell in love with.


"I am goddamn well going to have my breakfast on my own goddamn patio and enjoy some goddamn peace and quiet!"

The patio door closes hard enough the picture on the wall shakes.

"Oh, shit, shit, shit," Jess moans. "Goddammit."

Jon simply pulls a pillow over his face. She sees him take a deep breath. He throws the pillow aside. "Come on." He gets off the bed and she follows him into the bathroom. She's just showered; she settles for washing between her legs and brushing her teeth. Her stomach is growling again. Jon showers quickly, as quickly as he can and still wash his hair. He tries to keep kissing her while she towels off his hair and brushes it. She can't help giggling, though her mind is as restless as ever.

"Who the hell did this for you before this trip?" She demands.

"Did it myself. I keep it in a bun most of the time. I only had to wash it a couple times a week."

"I hate man buns on everyone except you and even on you I prefer your hair down, or in a ponytail."

He hops up off the toilet seat, where he'd been sitting and grabs her. His tongue finds hers and by the time he lets her go, his dick is hard.

"Come on, or we'll starve to death fucking," he pants, hands on her breasts.

Jess laughs and pushes his hands away. "Mixed signals, Jon."

They dress quickly and head to the bar restaurant. They're still too excited to have much of an appetite; coffee, fruit, juice, and a bit of yogurt is all they can manage. Jon eats with one hand, the other, for most of the meal, rests between Jess' legs. She worries she'll soak through her panties and dress.

Jesus, we both just got off, how can it be so hard for me to keep my hands off her. He leans closer and whispers in her ear. "I just came and I still can't keep my hands off you. What the fuck have you done to me, Jess? Did you concoct a love potion and pour it into my ear while I slept on the plane? I want to hop off this stool, turn you around, bend you over your stool, pull your dress up, and yank your panties down. I want to spit on my hand and rub it over my cock. I want to spit on your ass and fuck you, here, over the stool, with everyone watching. I want to fuck you in the ass." He sits back, his linen pants tented and runs his hands through his hair. He looks at her, not with lust, or not only with lust; his face is full of fear. "Jess, what the fuck is wrong with me? This can't be right. I can't believe I said those things to you. Worse, I can't believe I meant them. I do mean them." He shakes his head, eyes wide. "I want to fuck you, right here, right this minute."

She leans toward him, puts her hand on his. "I want you to, Jon. I want you to do all that and more. It's crazy but I do. We're not going to. That would be crazy."

"What would be crazy?"

Jon jumps, startled. Jess simply looks up at Caitlin.

"Sorry, Jon. I didn't think I was sneaking up on you. Sorry. Is your mom with you? In her room?" Caitlin holds up a small plastic bag. "Her magic elixir awaits." If she notices Jon squirming, trying to hid his erection, she's polite enough not to stare.

"Her and dad are having breakfast on their patio. Just walk around the beach path. They should still be there."

Caitlin nods. "You guys okay? I'm sorry if I intruded."

"No, you're fine," Jess tells her. "We were just wondering how crazy would it be if Jon fucked me right here in the bar, right now."

"Very crazy," Caitlin snorts. "Sounds hot as sin but very crazy. I'd advise against it. I don't think you'd like Mexican jails, not that I've seen one, I'm just guessing on the point but I personally wouldn't risk it. Are you exhibitionists?"

Jon's face burns. He stares at the flattened rinds of the orange he ate for breakfast.

"That's kinda what we're trying to figure out," Jess replies. "I'm not sure. Maybe. I don't know. The idea certainly seems to get both our motors revving but I've never done anything like that, other than..."

"Other than loud sex with your door open and screwing each other in the surf? Other than that? And you're having to wonder if you're exhibitionists? Okay, sure, I can see that," she ends with a smirk. "Hey, I don't mean to make fun," she says softer, seeing the deep blush on Jon's face. She bends over and kisses his forehead, then Jess'. "I love the both of you, honestly, even though I barely know you, you've weaseled into my heart somehow. You aren't freaks or perverts, well maybe you are, but you're sweet ones and you aren't hurting anyone. Just be careful and don't get hurt yourselves." She gives them a smile. "I need to find your mom. See ya, later?"

"I'm not sure what we're doing." Jess tells her. "I think our parents have had their fill of us for a while."

"Ah," Caitlin sighs. "Well, have fun if I don't see you. Should I slip a little valium in with your mom's antibiotics?"

"That wouldn't be ethical would it?"

"No, Jon. Probably not," Caitlin tells him. She can't resist kissing him on the forehead again. "If it makes you feel any better all the women in here and probably a few of the men would love for you to fuck them, right here, right now. So, cheer up, stud." She turns to Jess. "The same goes for you, the other way around, you know, all the men and a lot of the women, you know." Jess has never seen Caitlin even remotely flustered; it's Jess' turn to blush. "Well, see ya." Caitlin hurries away.

"She's falling in love with you," Jon observes.

"Don't be silly. Sure, she likes me. I like her."

Jon shrugs and drains his coffee. "You finished?" Jess nods. "Let's go."

She follows him to the lobby. "I'll be right back." She takes the hint and a seat. He spends a few minutes talking with the concierge and then watching as the man draws on a map. The smile on the concierge's face gives her the creeps. He glances at her and she drops her eyes. When she peeks up, the man's smile is gone. She doesn't hear any raised voices but she can tell by Jon's posture that he's pissed. His face is rigid when he walks over to her and offers her his hand. Neither of them spare the concierge a glance as they leave. Jess forces herself to not ask questions.

He leads them to the scooter rental kiosk. Jess straps on a helmet and sits behind him. She loves the feel of his body beneath her hands and pressed to her chest. She turns her head and rests it against his back, content to let him take her where he will.


"Should I come back? We shouldn't get too far off schedule but if this is a bad time."

"No, Caitlin, it's fine. It's not you. It's my offspring. One, or both, have been inhabited by an incubus or succubus. It's getting absurd."

She's never seen James angry. He's one of those people that keeps their anger inside. If she had gotten to know him over the past few days, she'd never have noticed. But she has gotten to know him. Little things betray him. The way he holds his coffee cup, bites into the croissant, the tone of his voice when he said, 'good morning'. Looking at him, staring out over the beach, she imagines waves of anger radiating from him; she imagines it would look something like the waves of dirt around Pigpen, the Peanuts character.

"Hmm. Let me get Gloria hooked up and I might be able to help you with the stress." She laughs out loud at James' sudden look in her direction. "Relax, Mr. Vandermach. What I have in mind is fully sanctioned by the American Medical Association and is entirely professional in nature."

"My apologies, Dr. Schmidt. I'm a dirty old man."

"No, you're not. You're not old and you're not dirty and if you weren't both friends and your wife wasn't currently a patient of mine, my husband and I would be plotting to get the two of you into a nice California king-sized bed."

"James' company provides him with an unseemly amount of life insurance. They make him get a cardiac stress test every two years. He's always passed but he's due for one. Please don't strain his heart with your wanton ways, dear. I'm not ready to be a rich widow."

"And how is your heart, Mrs. Vandermach?"

"Strong as an ox."

"Good. But it's not your heart I'm worried about. Off with your shirt."

Gloria is impressed by Caitlin's ability to alter the tone of her voice from playful banter to a do-as-you're-told command. She wishes Caitlin was single and closer to Jon's age.

Caitlin's movements are as no nonsense as her tone of voice. She slathers her hands with sanitizer, pulls on sterile gloves, opens her supplies, swabs the PICC line port and gets the antibiotics running. The gloves go in the trash, more sanitizer follows, gauze and wipes are opened, the dressing over her tattoo is removed, examined, even sniffed. More sanitizer, new gloves and she goes to work cleaning the wound. There's very little pain and the skin has faded from angry red to a subtle pink. There's no pus, only a few scabs, the largest where the skin had looked blackish. She probes the area, making sure there's no pus collecting beneath the scab. "Looking good, Mrs. Vandermach, looking very good." Hands are sanitized for a third time and a third set of gloves donned. A clean dressing is taped in place. More trash is tossed into the bin. "After a while the sanitizer feels sticky. May I use your bathroom to wash my hands?"

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