That Damned Blessing Ch. 02

That might have explained the images that had given her such an earthshaking orgasm this morning, but it certainly didn't explain the conversation she had had with him over breakfast. It had been so...so casual, like they had been talking about the weather or what supplies he'd need for the coming school year. Neither of them had seemed to notice anything unusual about such filthy obscenities - it had certainly not seemed odd to her when she was saying them. And if there was any explanation for that, she didn't know it. The whole thing had been...unthinkable.

And she had to stop thinking about it. She turned on the car radio, already tuned to the only station that could be picked up on the island without a satellite. Radio Ranu Ratu was a government-owned station that played whatever was popular in Australia at the time, which right now meant that about 85% of its playlist was Taylor Swift. Well, Taylor Swift was fine, though Jess herself had always enjoyed the various flavors of alternative music from the 90s when she was in her teenage formative years. Oh well, she wasn't going to hear her favorites here.

Ten minutes later the station was just transitioning from its second Taylor Swift song in a row to its third Taylor Swift song in a row (man, the Aussies really loved Taylor Swift, apparently) when she had to come to a halt because a herd of about 30 cattle were standing in and around the road. Usually these herds were tended by someone who would shoo them off the road - or at least a well trained cattle dog - but these seemed both unattended and quite sedentary. She beeped her horn at them, which caused a few of the nearest cows to look at her with a complete lack of curiosity while they chewed their cuds. Hell. This might be a while.

After a few moments she looked over into the back seat to see that the basket she had gotten from the hotel was still securely where she had placed it. Inside there were some fancy chicken salad sandwiches (heavy on the mustard), a dish of native vegetables that she didn't recognize, Egyptian-style flatbread with hummus, some wonderful mango tarts, and a 2014 bottle of Australian rosé. Everything was packed on ice so there was no threat of spoilage and she had left with a huge amount of time to get to the construction site before lunch - even if it was an hour before someone came and cleared the cattle away, she would get to Paul in time for lunch without an issue. So there was nothing to do but wait.

Waiting quickly became annoying. The island was largely tropical rainforest, which means hot and humid; while the jeep was moving there was a breeze through the windows so things were tolerable. However now, stationary, she was starting to sweat a layer of perspiration that wasn't drying. What was worse, the jungle insects - usually absent near the beach - were starting to buzz into the vehicle; she wasn't one to be scared of bugs, but some of these suckers gave painful bites. And she couldn't roll the windows up or she'd cook (the Jeep had air conditioning but it was nonfunctional, naturally). Within ten minutes she was becoming seriously irritated. She honked for a while at the indifferent and immobile cows and then sat back, arms crossed, feeling damned dissatisfied.

In this state it was natural to think of things that reinforced her grumpy mood, and the first thought that hurled itself forcefully into her mind was the way she had imagined her son fucking her. Even now, hours later, it was still disgusting and filled her with shame. Only a terrible person, a terrible parent, could imagine such things. She had always thought of herself as a good mom; at the very least she hadn't imagined she was such a nasty pervert! Her one saving grace was that thoughts were private. It was bad enough that she knew, she couldn't imagine how disgusted Paul would feel if he had any idea.

And Ryan! Surely he would be beyond mortified at the thought of fucking her! Really, was it even conceivable that he would want to do anything with her no matter how hot it was? Of course not! She could only imagine the look on his face as she reached around behind her to undo her bra and let it fall to the floor. There was no way he would put his hands on her breasts and knead them, and no way he would tug at her nipples and squeeze them between his fingers. And even if he did that, he wouldn't want to put his mouth on them and suck them, pulling them into his mouth, letting them scrape across his teeth and then nibbling them just enough to make her weak in the knees.

And of course it was impossible that when she slipped her hand down his shorts, she would find his long, thick cock already hard and pulsing for her. He wouldn't want her to stroke it gently while she whispered into his ear all the filthy, wonderful things she wanted him to do to her body. And when he suddenly and violently pushed her onto the bed and tore her panties to shreds rather than bothering to take them off, what would he think? What would he think when he found her sweet little cunt already red and puffy and dripping wet for him? Would he be disgusted with her? Or would he spread her legs wide and give her the fuck that he needed as much as she did? Would he kiss her hard and whisper a secret name as his balls slapped against her ass and her ankles locked behind his back of their own volition?

And when he came deep, deep inside her and filled her unprotected womb with so much of his potent seed that it would stay inside her for days, would he hope that one of those swimmers would find her eager egg? Would he need to knock her up as much as she needed him to?

Jess' orgasm hit with the force of a freight train, her mouth open in a silent scream of ecstasy while her right hand diddled her hard clit and the knuckles of her left hand went white where they gripped the steering wheel. It was the most bewildering orgasm she'd ever had, and one of the most intense, and when it finally swept past she was left trembling and dripping with sweat. The world was spinning and nothing made sense. She looked around in pure bewilderment - she had just been masturbating! How was it possible to masturbate to completion without even knowing you were doing it?

And where the hell were her panties? She didn't remember taking them off, but she sure as hell wasn't wearing them now and her juices had soaked the back of her dress. Numbly she looked around the jeep, even feeling under her seat without find them. She didn't see them until she looked out the window to her left (like in Australia, in Ranu Ratu you drove on the left) and spotted their pastel yellow color hanging from the branch of a bush growing in the roadside ditch. What the...

Making sure nothing was showing, she stepped out of her car to retrieve her underwear, only then realizing that the cows were being driven off the road by a young islander who couldn't have been older than 20; the guy gave her a shit-eating grin and an enthusiastic thumbs up, and it struck her that he had probably watched her jilling off! Blushing so hard she felt faint, she grabbed her panties; by the time she had settled herself back in the cows were off the road, and she sped past like lightning, ignoring the cheerful, "Thanks for the show!" from the cowherd.

She knew she needed to do some very hard thinking about what the sam-fuck was going on with her, but this whole thing had just taken on an air or unreality that she couldn't wrap her head around - at the moment it all seemed like it was happening to someone else. The more she tried to think of it, the more it skittered away like an eel. Well, fine - after lunch, when she was back at the hotel, she would give it all the thought she needed to figure it out.

Ronea was a ramshackle town of about 4,500, which was surprisingly large for a town in a small Pacific island nation. The buildings clustered on the left side of the road she was on to be close to the sea. The airport they had flown into (and would be leaving from in less than a week) was off to the right - it had been made by and for the American military during World War Two, and had been kept up ever since as a vital link to the world. She stayed on the road over the next hill and was greeted with the sight of construction equipment and swarms of workers laboring on what would soon be the fanciest resort hotel and casino between Australia and Hawaii.

There was no telling where Paul could be - he was seldom in the air conditioned office, preferring a more hands-on approach to management - so she asked around and was pointed to a cluster of workmen down by one of the big cranes that was just being assembled. She walked down toward the group, hoping that the fact that she was generally sweaty and probably a little stinky would cover the fact that she smelled like an orgasm.

As she walked, the nearby workers gave her none of the catcalls or whistles that an attractive women (and Jess was still a very attractive woman) could expect from construction crews the world over; she was, after all, the wife of one of the big bosses, which entitled her to a certain amount of respect. Nothing could keep them from looking, of course, and the long summer dress she wore couldn't conceal a curvaceous shape like hers, so she was acutely aware that about fifty sets of eyes were on her tits and ass as she went. Ah well, she probably didn't have many more years of being able to turn heads like this, so yes it was demeaning, yes it was objectifying, and yes she she found it distasteful, but she also put a little extra shimmy in her hips and bounce in her step.

Her husband was addressing a cluster of gang supervisors, and he beamed when he saw her. "Honey! What are you doing here?"

"I thought you might like a surprise picnic lunch with your wife on the beach."

"Damned right I do!" he said with a huge smile. "Give me ten minutes to wrap things up here, OK?"

She used the ten minutes to return to return to the jeep and drive it back to pick him up. She slid over to give him the driver's seat so he could get them to the best nearby spot, and just a few minutes later they were over another hill and onto a lovely little cove with a romantic view of waves crashing onto rocks. Away to the north was a pleasant-looking little fishing village. There was no beach here in the sense of an open curve with white sand, but the grass came down near to the water and was then replaced by rocks, so they planted the big beach parasol, spread their blanket, and began digging into the food.

It was a nice meal, with a little breeze coming in off the water as usual to wick away whatever lingering arousal scent clung to her body. She asked him how his day was going and kept the subject on him for as long as she could, and he regaled her with uninteresting tales of the technical issues that were coming up recently (most of the personnel problems were the domain of Rick Howell, who bore the title of Construction Coordinator and dealt with the operational issues of getting the resort built, rather than the architectural and visionary aspects that Paul was in charge of). Though she still didn't understand what was wrong with her today, the guilt over her thoughts and deeds with Ryan was starting to edge back in, so when he asked her how she was doing she took a huge bite of chicken salad sandwich and cheerfully mumbled, "Great!" around the food. That seemed to satisfy him, much to her relief, and the conversation moved to some of the challenges she would face when she went home without him in six days.

It was a nice meal and a nice time with the man she loved, and when he reluctantly declared he had to return to work, they packed everything up and headed back. She left him at the site and headed back east just as the regularly scheduled rain storm was darkening the sky in that direction. Like most South Pacific tropical islands, Ranu Ratu got two rains a day, one in the morning and one in the afternoon, that were torrential but brief and spotty - more than once she had seen a situation where she couldn't see ten feet for the downpour in one direction but the opposite direction had bright sunshine. And the natives all said that was normal, so go figure.

With no cows to block her path she made good time, only having to stop and pull off the road for five minutes when the rain finally hit. She sat in the jeep, listening to the rain pummeling the canvas top and drowning out Taylor Swift on the radio -

And it was then that the enormity of what she had done today really, truly hit her hard. She leaned her head against the steering wheel and moaned, "I am...contemptible. For God sake, woman, what the hell...what the hell..."

It was insane. It was impossible. It was not HER. She just didn't think about those kinds of things, much less do them. She almost never thought about another man when she was with Paul, and if she did it was someone unobtainable like Chris Hemsworth; when she masturbated she either thought about Paul or focused on how good the sensations felt to the exclusion of all else. But now...

"Maybe I'm a damned slut," she muttered. "Even Trish isn't bad enough to fantasize about fucking her own son." Not that Trish Hendricks had a son, but if she did, she wouldn't be bad enough to think about fucking him...probably.

OK, so what to do about it? What could she do? You couldn't help what popped into your head and got you gushy during sex. She had conversations with her friends at home where they occasionally discussed the topic, and some of them admitted to things even more "out there" than what she'd imagined. But the masturbation - how could she have stopped that when she didn't even realize she'd begun? She had no memory of reaching beneath her skirt to begin with and certainly no memory at all of lifting her hips, sliding her panties down her legs, and throwing them out the fucking window. That was just...nuts. It was nuts. And she was horny all the time now!

And again, what to do about it? It was probably menopause, that did all kinds of screwy shit to women's levels. Maybe she needed a libido suppressant. Did they even make those for women? Didn't some antidepressants do that? Not that she needed one for depression, but maybe a doctor would give her one if her raging hormones didn't cool down. Or maybe it was just this island, the climate and the change of scenery and the fact that she spent about a quarter of every day gossiping about sex with the Frauen-Trinkclub. God, the ladies would laugh their asses off if they knew what was going on with her right now!

So...yeah. It was the island, being away from her normal or easing of social pressures or overindulgence in alcohol - it had to be some local influence. In six days she and the kids would be on a plane to Sydney and then Los Angeles and then Milwaukee. If she was still having problems then she could see her GP and her gynecologist and her therapist. Hell, she could get an MRI if she had to. She just needed to hold it together until then.

Ryan and Lexy had waited until the downpour passed, and the moment it did they set off from the hotel dock in their little sailboat with a picnic basket, a blanket for a privacy curtain, and a crapload of sunscreen. The water in the bay was like glass, the sort of waters Ryan had been navigating almost since he could walk, and he handled the little 6-meter craft effortlessly, steering it out well away from land before unstepping the mast and dropping anchor.

"My mother always told me I'd come to no good," Lexy mused. "And here I am, about to get fucked by a common sailor."

"There's nothin' common about me, baby. And we're here to have a late lunch as much as to have sex. Well, almost as much." She regarded him dubiously. "OK fine, we're here to fuck and eat something to replenish our strength and then fuck some more. Happy?"

"I will be once you fuck me. I couldn't yesterday and I missed it. Just try not to bruise me this time."

"Aww, you take away all the fun," Ryan said amiably as he put his arms around Lexy and kissed her. She responded eagerly, her hands on his chest, slipping inside his open button-down shirt to caress the tanned skin inside. He'd been hard as diamond all day and now, with the chance to actually get off, it felt like he was going to rip through his baggy shorts. They played for a bit, tongue on tongue, before he pulled away with a grunt and said, "Ugh, I forgot to rig up the blanket."

"Oh bloody bother," she pouted as he began to rig the cloth to hang from the nearly-horizontal mast. "Must I wait?"

"Unless you want to give everyone around the bay a show and both of us to get nasty sunburns on parts that don't usually tan, yes." He did his best to hurry, and before long he had a little space set up to shield them both. He tried to tell her he was ready but she didn't wait for him to be finished before she grabbed his shorts and yanked them and his underwear down with a giggle. "Damn, girl..."

"As though that wasn't what you wanted!" she said with sparkling eyes as she wrapped her hand around his shaft...and stopped. "What..."

"Huh?" he asked, peering down at the confused girl.

"Your verga. It's...bigger."

"My what?"

"Your cock. It's bigger."

"Well I am pretty hard - "

"No, I mean it's....grown."

He looked dubiously at his own shaft as it protruded from her hand. "Nah..."

"I've always been able to fit my hand around it. I could last night. But now my fingers don't quite touch. See?"

"Um..."

"And it's longer too."

Now he just laughed. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"It's longer! Look at it!" She took her hand away so he could see; he had to admit, it did look notably larger than it usually did. She put her hand back on it and stroked him experimentally before asking, "Does it hurt?"

"I...no, it feels great, like it always does. Why would it hurt?"

"Because it's two or three centimeters longer than it ever has been before and it's at least another centimeter or centimeter-and-a-half around. Since last night!"

With a frown he brushed her hand aside and wrapped his own around his shaft. She was right, he had grown noticeably overnight. Yesterday he'd packed five-and-a-half inches, but today it was six-and-a-half at least. And there was no denying that it felt different in his hand, heavier and meatier. "I...don't know how this happened."

"Is this normal? Do they suddenly grow like this?"

"No. I mean not that I ever heard. This...this is weird as fuck, Lexy."

"We can't be imagining it."

"No, we aren't." He let his hand drop and stared at his throbbingly bizarre erection. "How could this happen?"

"I have no idea," she replied quietly. "Are you sure it doesn't hurt? If it got that much bigger so quickly you would think there would be growing pains...wouldn't there be?"

"No. I mean yes, you'd think it would hurt, but it just feels like me. Like it did yesterday. I think I need to get to the doctor."

"I don't think the doctor on this island can do much besides set broken bones and dispense antibiotics."

"Well that's just great. Look, let's go back so we're in range of the cell tower, I need to to google this."

Twenty minutes later they had just finished tying the boat up to the dock and they were both searching the internet. They discovered that the human penis is supposed to be basically finished growing by the age of 16, which made this even weirder than they thought, but there was nothing about sudden growth spurts of the dong except a bunch of porn stories (where it was fetish) and advertisements (where it was a scam). Almost an hour of fruitless searching later, Ryan pulled his cap off his head, wiped his forehead of sweat, and said, "That's it, I'm done. I can't find anything."

"Neither can I," Lexy admitted reluctantly, tucking her phone away and looking up at him. She squinted at him and then said, "Your hair is weird."