The Surrogate Ch. 10

"I did," she said at last and then went on, "but you did too, didn't you? You were hoping to rescue me." Rescue came out "reshcue," as her words slurred a little.

I raised my glass and nodded.

"So," she said, taking another pull on the beer, "Who's the slut now?"

I laughed and held up my hands in surrender.

"Come on," she said, taking my hand and moving toward the dance floor again.

We stayed at Benny's all night.

She ordered another three tequila shots and after she had finished them she was drunk. She set out to get, as she put it, "falling down, puke-on-your-shoes drunk," and she was pretty close. Her words were slurring badly and her balance was shaky when she took my hand and led me through the hall that led to the bathrooms and then out a backdoor I hadn't known was there.

The back door gave out onto the parking lot. She walked across the lot, staggering slightly, and leaned on the trunk of a car. I thought it was a Honda Civic but they all kind of look alike.

She reached back with her right hand and flipped the skirt up.

"Come on, Baby," she said, looking over her shoulder at me, "Mama-to-be needs a good fuckin'."

I don't know that I have ever seen anything more wanton. Her ass looked good, but it was her labia, the outer lips full and plump, the inner lips dangling loosely, that got to me.

So, I looked around, didn't see anybody, unbuckled, unbuttoned, and unzipped, got a good grip on her hips, and gave her what she wanted.

She was loose and sloppy and already slick when I slipped in.

And this was plain fucking for the first time since I met her. I hung on to those hips and each thrust made the sound almost like hands clapping as my belly slammed into her ass. Her little grunt with each thrust just added to the, well, the lust. The air was thick with her pheromones and those sounds just added to my aural delight.

She came, hard and wet, and I just held still while she finished.

The thing is, it wasn't about the climax for me. Oh, I could feel the pressure in my belly slowly building up, but that was secondary. It was the fucking, feeling my cock buried into her, pulling out, and then slamming back in that was getting to me.

So I would slam into her and she would grunt and I'd do it again. About every tenth thrust she'd cum.

Finally, evolution and my body took over. With a final thrust, my fingers digging into that soft flesh at her hips hard enough to make her cry out, I came, hard. I held on, pulling her to me, as I emptied my testicles and prostate gland, pumping at first then flowing until with a sudden hiss, clenching my belly and ass muscles, I pushed the last drops out.

"Oh fuck yes," she breathed, standing and with that ridiculous care of the truly drunk, straightening her skirt carefully.

"Now that," she said, wobbling and taking a little sidestep to catch her balance, "makes me want to dance."

"Ummm, Nancy," I started, holding her arm and catching her when she almost fell, "how about I take you home and we'll dance there."

"Nuh uh," she said, pulling her arm free and taking three quick steps, almost falling, "I think I'm gonna let that pretty boy play with my ass this time."

But we didn't.

Instead, she stopped, looked at me for a second, bent over, and threw up spectacularly.

"Oh, fuck," she said, standing, hands on her knees, swallowing noisily, "I puked on my shoes."

I moved around the big splash mess and pulled her hair clear of her face.

I barely made it in time. As I got her hair in my hands, out of the way, she gave an impressive demonstration of projectile vomiting.

She was bent at the waist, throwing up noisily, and I tried rubbing her back to ease her distress but she pulled away. Well, it was more like she flinched away like I was causing her still more suffering.

I settled for just waiting her out.

She was down to dry heaves, her body straining to get rid of what it didn't want, when the sound of spattering and the smell of urine announced her loss of bladder control.

"Oh God," she moaned and bent over again making that hungry seal barking sound of an empty stomach still straining to get rid of something as her urine soaked the insides of her thighs and puddled around her stiletto heels.

Of course, right then, three guys came out of the bar. Not cowboys, this appeared to be three frat rats and I suspected they had fake IDs.

"Oh, wow," Frat Rat One said, "look at this."

"Hey, man," Frat Rat Two said. He was the biggest of the three with that oversized bulky look that made you think football or wrestling, not basketball or swimming, "Can we fuck her?"

I tried being nice.

"My wife isn't at her best," I said, "so just leave us alone please so I can get her home."

"Hell, she looks pretty good to me," Frat Rat One said.

"Oh shit," Frat Rat Three said, this one a little weasel of a guy and it struck me that he was the only one that was really dangerous. He gave off a vibe that spoke of switchblade knives and chains. The other two were pure fraternity boys out for a party but this guy was different with his slicked-back hair and wispy beard. "She pissed herself," he said.

Frat Rat One had moved and reached to touch Nancy.

She was aware enough to stand and take a step away from him but that meant she stepped into the puddle of her puke and I had to catch her before she wound up on her back in the mess.

And that gave the Frat Rats a chance to close in.

"We ain't gonna hurt her," the big one said, reaching.

All of those years in Karate dojos paid off in that instant. Dad had me taking classes with him when I had just started school and teachers started sending home comments about my behavior. We attended the classes at the local Shaolin Do school, traditional Chinese Kung Fu rather than the harder-edged Japanese Karate or Korean Tae Kwon Do, and I had my black belt before I finished second grade. I still went to classes two hours a night two nights a week and instructed the younger kids as well as a woman's self-defense class.

I wasn't worried, then, but I knew I had to stop this fight.

It's called something in Japanese, Korean, and Chinese, terms I had learned at one point and promptly forgotten. In simple English, it's called a side kick and like all kicks in oriental martial arts, it has four distinct parts. Part one has the knee come up so the thigh is 90 degrees from the line of the spine and the knee is bent 90 degrees so it points straight down. The foot is bladed, toes bent up. Part two is the strike. The leg is extended using all of the power of those big quadriceps muscles. The body pivots on the foot still on the ground putting all of your weight into the strike. The big heavy bone of the heel is the hammer and it will break through pretty much anything in its way. I had broken a stack of pine boards six inches deep in demonstrations. Part three returns the body to the position assumed in part one, leg bent, knee bent, foot bladed. Part four returns the body to its fighting stance ready for the next technique.

I wasn't worried so the sidekick was aimed for the middle of the weasel's thigh. If I had been more worried the target would have been about six inches behind his kneecap and he would have probably walked with a cane the rest of his life. But these were just college kids so I settled for the thigh and he went down. His leg wasn't working with those muscles knotted into one big cramp.

"Back off," I said, moving toward the big one, "or your goddam football or wrestling or whatever your scholarship is for, career is over."

He held up his hands in surrender and the fight was over.

Nancy's eyes were big when I turned to her.

"Come on, party girl," I said, "time to go home."

She didn't say anything, just accepted my hand and walked with me around the building to the front where I called the Uber.

"Is it wrong," she said although it should probably be written as, "Ishhh 't ron," she was slurring her words pretty badly, "that I'm horny again?"

I laughed and said, "Keep it under control Princes Pukesabunch until we can get you home to the bottle of Listerine at least."

She giggled.

But I meant it. The adrenaline rush of the fight had me keyed up. I was proud that my fingers weren't trembling as I punched in the number for the ride.

We stood, leaning against the wall, drawing a few looks as patrons came and went, for almost 15 minutes before the car arrived.

The driver took one look at us, got out of the car, dashed around to the trunk, grabbed a well-worn quilt, and spread it over the back seat before waving us in.

"Not your first rodeo at Benny's?" I asked.

"Nope," he said, "where to."

I gave him the address and I don't think we were clear of the parking lot before Nancy was snoring, loudly, bubbly snotty snores.

At the house, I handed him my credit card and helped a semi-conscious Nancy out of the car.

He handed the card back and asked if I needed help. I waved him off with a thank you and half carried her inside.

I walked her into the bedroom, made sure she had her balance, told her to stand there at the foot of the bed, and ran into the bathroom where I grabbed one of the oversized bath towels. I laid the bath towel across the foot of the bed and sat her on it. When she started to flop back I caught her, laughing, and said, "Sit up, Baby, while I get you undressed and cleaned up."

She was swaying but seemed able to stay upright so I took a chance, got to my knees, and got the shoes off of her. I worked the little wire buttonhole-looking things that attached the nylons to the garter belt and then got the nylons off of her. A miracle happened and I didn't ruin them. They were sodden with urine and puke and semen so I tossed them in the corner.

I coaxed her into a standing position and got the top off of her. It joined the nylons in the corner. The button and zipper of the tiny skirt were next and the pile in the corner was complete.

She looked wild. Her carefully done hair was hanging loose, the ends soaked with puke. Her eyes were red, her nose was running. She stank of vomit and piss and pussy.

I wanted her right then, but walked her to the shower instead.

While we waited for water to run hot I grabbed the bottle of Listerine and handed it to her.

"Rinse," I said and she took a mouthful and started swishing.

We stepped into the shower and she giggled as she spat the Listerine in my face burning my eyes.

"That's gonna cost you," I said, turning my face into the stream to clear my eyes.

She was giggling as I squirted a mouthful of water into her face and then turned her to let the hot water run down from the top of her head.

I chuckled and said, "I hope the eyelashes weren't too expensive. You seem to have lost one."

She reached up, found what I was talking about, and peeled off the remaining lash, dropping it and watching it catch and then disappear down the drain.

I washed her face carefully, getting the heavy makeup off.

I shampooed her hair, twice, and then worked her conditioner in until it hung in tight ringlets well past her shoulders.

I was doing her body when she suddenly bent over and retched again. She was empty, of course, but as she strained thick strings of thick mucus-laden bile came up.

When she finished I said, "Open your mouth and rinse."

I watched as she turned her face up to the showerhead, opened her mouth, rinsed, spat, and did it again.

I finished her body then, thinking how sexy she was. I washed the soft flap of her postpartum belly and lower where she dangled so sexily.

Clean and dry then, I helped her into bed and crawled in next to her.

I kissed her and she reached down and took my dick in her hand.

"Got another one in there?" she asked.

"Let's see what you got," I said.

She played with my dick for about 30 seconds before she started snoring.

I chuckled, kissed her forehead, and snuggled against her.

I took her nipple in my mouth and began nursing.

She managed a soft sigh and an almost silent, "That's nice."

And then she was snoring again.

We began her final preparation the next morning.