Seduction 56
Can this day be more perfect? If we make love today, the odds of me having
twins seems very high! That would mean only
one pregnancy to go through. And the
second twin can make use of my already expanded birth canal, sparing it the
trauma of stretching me out, and sparing me the trauma of a second separate
birth experience.
‘Will I really have twins?’ I wonder. I have not yet seen this man’s penis. I wonder what it is like, the penis of my
children’s father.
What does he sound like when he
explodes inside me? Does he make
noises? Or is he totally silent, like my
husband?
Will I have an orgasm while he
inseminates me? Does he eject a lot of
sperm when he cums?
Will he want to lie with me after
we make love? Will he stay awake and
talk to me about it afterwards?
I am driving myself crazy with too
many irrelevant questions.
Will I want him to stay
awake and talk to me after we have done this?
Will Jon love my baby? Babies?
Will Andrea love our babies, forever
and ever?
Can I live as a lesbian? I suppose that I am technically
bi-sexual. I do like sex with
both sexes. At least now I do. I used to resent how often Jon wanted
sex. Now it’s me. Now I want sex all the time! What has gotten into me?
Twins.
There is something about the idea
of having twins that thrills me all the way down deep inside me.
Twins. Since they come from two separate eggs, they
could be both female and male. Not
identical twins. What’s the other
type? Oh! Yeah! Fraternal.
I remember some of my high school Latin.
Fraternal is derived from the word meaning ‘brother’. Are they still fraternal if one is a girl? Or BOTH are girls?
I look at Max. Perfect Max.
“Yes, let’s go take a walk on the
beach in the sunshine. How large is your
penis?” I am immediately both
embarrassed and ashamed.
Max burst out laughing as he pulls
me to my feet. He is still chuckling
while he says, “Larger than some, smaller than others. Are you concerned that I might injure you
with . . . him?”
I nod, looking him in the eye.
He puts his crooked index finger
under my chin and says softly, “I promise not to injure you, nor hurt you, other
than perhaps a tiny bit while you stretch out down there. But I’ll be very careful, and if at any time
you need me to stop, just say so, or put your hand against my pelvis, OK?”
I nod. I feel the quiver of need in my belly.
He leans down and kisses me with
growing intensity.
I LOVE this man’s kisses!
I have no idea how long we stand
there, kissing. No one is around, so we
have privacy. I feel his rigid shape
against my tummy.
I draw his hand to my breast. My nipples are rock hard.
Seduction 57
We kiss for what may have been
eternity. I lose track of time. His lips, soft, gentle, caring, seem to
worship me. I hear no one, not that I am
really listening. He could have stripped
me naked and bent me over then and there and I would not have resisted.
When we finally come up for air,
he whispers, “Lets walk on the beach for a bit, little darling.”
He takes my hand. We saunter, my body movements lubricated by sensuous
joy and happiness.
The beach is only a half block
from where we ate.
As we walk onto the brilliantly
white sand, I notice that many of the beach goers are naked. No one pays any attention to the others,
whether clothed or not.
‘What would it feel like to be nude in public?’ I wonder. Slightly embarrassed, I realize I am
attracted to the idea.
After a short while, Max leads me
to a beach side bar. He pulls a chair
out for me, and watches me as I turn to sit down. His eyes are intense.
I manage to return his gaze.
He sits beside me, his arm draped
protectively around my shoulders.
Several women, obviously American,
start talking in low voices to each other as their eyes dart to us, then back
to each other.
Max chuckles. He looks at me and winks. “I’m going to undress you as they watch and
gossip about us,” he says quietly, his eyes twinkling.
He leans over and softly,
seductively kisses me. I have a clear
view of the two women, though I don’t think they know I am watching them.
Max’s long strong fingers begin to
unbutton me.
It occurs to me that he has not
yet seen my breasts. I find that oddly
fascinating. He has given me supreme
pleasures, yet his eyes have not seen me naked above the waist.
Max is in no hurry; his kiss
lingers, as do his gentle fingers.
The women are going berserk with
their longing, castigating eyes. Their
urgent murmurs reach us, though I cannot understand their exact words.
I can feel his kiss turning into a
grin.
I grin too. Watching these women acting as they do, but
knowing from their gaze that they envy me, is turning me on. I have never before acted the part of the
willing slut, at least not before Andrea came back into my life.
But I admit to myself that I love
every minute of this!
Max’s eyes are staring at my chest
as he slowly opens my blouse. “Oh my
god! Your breasts are the most perfect I
have ever seen, Dani!” he exclaims softly as he reveals me to everyone present.
I watch his lusting eyes as they
consume my femininity. I feel so proud
of what I look like naked when I see reverence in his face.
The women are staring at me now,
no longer any pretense at not looking at us.
They watch as Max’s fingers caress me, like feathers of desire against
my skin.
My nipples rise in response. I pull my shoulders back to better display
the girls for the entire world to admire.
“Our child will be the luckiest
baby in the world, nursing on those perfect breasts!” Max says, his eyes still
bathing them in admiration.
Both women are now rocking their crossed
legs, obviously stimulating their own clitties as their thighs move. I can’t
help but giggle at their expense.
Max helps me to my feet, then
removes my dress, leaving me fully naked.
I turn full frontal to the woman,
then with my eyes on the horizon, I stretch.
I have never felt so proud of my body as I do at that moment.
I swear that one of the women has
an orgasm, though she tries her best to camouflage it.
We giggle in unison as we pass
within inches of the two women.
We walk back out onto the beach.
We stop a few feet from their
table and kiss again. Max’s hand
caresses my naked backside as we stand there.
I press my hips to his and am delighted to feel his erection pressing
back agasint me.
I pull my hips back slightly, so
that the women can see my hand. I fondle
Max.
It is only then that I realize
just how thick his penis is.
Seduction 58
Max leads me along the beach. His clothing is again hiding the form of his
member. I can’t help but think about how
thick it felt in my hand as I tantalized the gossipers. I’m pretty sure the one woman came again as I
fondled Max’s baby maker while she watched.
Her crossed leg had started working overtime.
The last time I looked at her, I
am pretty sure that I saw a look of utter envy in her eyes.
I smile softly as I remember her gaze
of longing.
I begin to worry about whether my
body can accept something that thick. I
was too shocked to mentally calibrate just how thick he is. And when I think back, I find myself doubting
that a man can be that thick in real life.
Wouldn’t he tip over frontwards when he gets an erection?
Max says something. I am too distracted to hear him, so I have to
ask what he said. I have enough presence
of mind to say, “What was that, Max?” instead of “Huh?”
He laughs. Then he pulls me to a stop and gathers my
nakedness into his arms. “I want you to
marry me, Dani,” he says slowly and distinctly.
I stare at him as I decide whether
he is serious or not. ‘Did he really just say that?’
It takes me time to process the
thoughts in my head, but I end up deciding that he is serious.
“But Max,” I sputter, “I’m already
married. And Andrea . . . Misty . . . wants
me to be her mate.”
“I know darling. I know.
But if we get married down here, at this place I know about, you can be
married to your husband, and to me, and even to Misty if you want to. That way our baby will have four parents that
love it and care for it.”
I hadn’t ever thought about what
getting married in a different country would mean, legally.
Max kisses me. “I want our baby to be born IN wedlock, not
OUT of wedlock. I want our baby to have
everything. Its whole life, I want it to
have everything. Including proper
discipline, by the way.
“I have watched you over the last
couple of days. I am awestruck at how
caring and loving you are to those around you.
You will make a wonderful mother.
And I want our first night of lovemaking to be perfect, including being
married to you.”
I am stunned.
I stare at Max. I see that he is utterly serious.
“Does Andrea know about this?” I
ask.
Max chuckles. “It was . . . originally at least . . . her idea, sweetheart!”
Max gets down on one knee. From his pocket comes a little black box.
I am speechless as he proposes to
me, formally.
I burst into tears. I blubber as I feel his arms lift me and hold
me. I can’t talk, so I just nod. And nod.
And nod . . . tears streaming down my cheeks.
“OK,” Max says. “I need to take you to where you will be
prepared, and dressed, and bathed, and taken care of for the rest of your
wedding day.”
“TODAY?” I gasp. “We are getting married TODAY?”
“This evening at 8 o’clock in the
Holy Chapel. Your body needs to be properly
prepared, so I need to take you there now.”
He takes my hand again and leads
me on down the beach. He is walking
faster than before. There is an urgency
to his stride.
Is this really happening? I am getting married? Tonight?
To a beautiful, kind, poetic, GORGEOUS, masculine black man? To the father of our soon to be conceived child?
I relive the twinges in my abdomen
earlier. My hands are over my tummy, as
though I am carrying a child within me.
My body is as fertile as I will ever be.
I pull on his hand to stop
him.
He turns to me, shades of concern
on his face. “What baby?” he asks.
I throw myself into his arms,
wrapping my legs around his small hips.
My arms around his neck. “I love
you, Max,” I say. I kiss him with all
the passion I feel inside me.
I mean it . . . deeply, profoundly.
Seduction 59
My Max chuckles at my
exuberance. His hands openly fondle my
naked bum as I rest in his hands. His
thumbs and fingertips touch me where I want him most. A few people are watching our unbridled display
of affection. I see a few men begin to
swell in carnal interest. I find myself
wishing Max would take me then and there so that everyone can see how devoted I
am to this incredibly sexy man. I have
no idea what has gotten into me, but I like the new me!
I can hardly wait until my Max is
also without clothing, and is using my body for his consummate pleasures.
“Spank me while they all watch,” I
whisper conspiratorially. I have no idea
what has come over me, but for some reason I want everyone to see that he is my
Master, and can use me as he sees fit. I
want to be the very best for him. I want
him to go off inside me like a skyrocket at a Fourth of July celebration.
His eyes probe my mind. His fingers are unwittingly opening my bum
and my bunny as I rest on his hands.
He grins at me, perhaps surprised
by how enthusiastically I have engaged with him.
His eyes twinkling, he carries me
to a nearby bench. With me still
entangled around him, he sits.
He ceremoniously drapes me across
his lap. Every time something touches my
skin, I feel it with high-pitched intensity.
Especially when Max’s hands touch me in places that are normally covered
by clothing.
I feel an achy, tremulous thrill
run down my spine into my sexual core.
“Spread your legs, little Miss
Deserving! Assume ‘the Position’,” he
says loud enough for others to hear.
I respond instantly, taking what I
perceive to be ‘the Position’.
His big hand rubs my naked bum, as
though to prepare me for his punitive attentions.
My tummy begins vibrating with
sexual tremors. My whole self wants to experience
his domination, to feel his power that I have rashly but excitedly relinquished
to him.
“Count as I give you what you
deserve!” he admonishes me sternly. The
tone of his voice hints at both excitement and humor.
His first swat on my tush urges me
toward nirvana. I jump in surprise and
pleasure. The sting of his hand makes me
moan.
“One, Master Max!” I say as soon
as I can think.
I can feel the eyes of those
around us. I can feel their stares as
Max’s hand smack my bottom again.
“Two, Master Max!” I say, louder
than the first swat. I hope that Max’s
hand will soon land squarely on my bunny.
I want to feel my clittie sting.
I want to know that my soon to be husband understands that he can have
fun with my body, any way he wants to.
And, I realize, I want my new
husband to push my limits. I want to
stop being the prissy prude that I have been.
I want to openly experiment with my sexuality. I want to stop falling back on the
stereotypes I was raised with.
Max’s hand soothes my bottom. His fingertips pass across my bunny
lips.
I moan.
Max swats my behind again, a bit
harder than before.
“Three, Master Max!”
I notice that several men have
moved around to have a clear view of my vaginal opening. I remember what Andrea has instructed me to
call my body parts.
“Please spank my cunt, Master
Max!” I say, loud enough for those around us to hear.
Several of the naked men have swelling
erections now. I can see some of them
pulsing in eager anticipation of what this black man is going to do to my white
body . . . while they watch.
‘Oh my god! I am becoming an
exhibitionist!’
Max’s hand lands squarely on Miss
Cunt!
I feel a full-blown orgasm rocket
down through my tummy into Miss Slutty Cunt.
I feel myself clench down
there. I hear the splatter of liquids
near my feet. Totally out of control, I
squirt! My elixir of sex saturates my
thighs . . . and probably Max’s trouser legs!
My orgasm takes on a life of its
own. I cannot speak, I cannot count my
spanks, I cannot control the noises I am making. I sound like a slut as I scream
profanity. I hear myself utter the “F
Word” over and over. I hear myself beg
to ‘have my cunt fucked until my brains fall out!’
Then everything fades to black.
Seduction 60
As I slowly rouse myself, I try to
remember what has happened. My mind is
foggy. But I feel incredibly aroused,
even though at the same time I feel satisfied.
I find myself ready for whatever is to come. I want more, but I am grateful, OH so
grateful, for what I have experienced.
I realize that Max’s smiling face
is hovering above mine. His grin is full
of excitement.
He kisses me ever so gently,
tenderly; dare I say, even possessively?
“It ees tiyme to go, leettle
darling. Eet is time for your bowdy to
be preepared for the ceremoanies.” Max
takes my hands and gently pulls me to my feet.
“Do not worry about thee wetness on your thighs, leettle darling, eet ees
a sign of great respect here on thee island.”
‘Why is my Max speaking with a Jamaican accent?’ I wonder.
My legs are a little wobbly as we walk
down the beach.
‘What does Max mean by ‘A sign of great respect’?’ I puzzle over this as I wobble toward
wherever it is he is taking me.
Near the end of the beach we
approach a little house. It is roofed in
thatch, and has walls that look as if they have been made of tree branches. A thin trail of smoke rises above the roof.
Max puts his arm around my
shoulders, kisses me on the head, then turns me to face him. “These people will prepare you for the
ceremony. Do as they ask. I will see you at the appointed time. Misty will be in attendance as well.” He kisses me on my forehead, then slowly
backs away, watching my face.
He didn’t have a Jamaican accent
this time.
I hear someone behind me. I feel hands on my shoulders.
I slowly turn to face those that
will . . . prepare me. Whatever that is.
The woman is far shorter than I. She seems quite elderly; but she seems
spry. Her hairs is combed and braided
such that many of her braids hang over her face. I see tattoos around her mouth, her eyes, and
on her cheekbones.
Without a word she cups my
breasts, hefting them as though she is appraising them. Her hands and wrists are also covered by
tattoos. Her thumb and forefinger grasp
my nipples and pluck at them. Gently at
first, then with more strength. She
seems to be testing how far she can extend them.
She bends over slightly. Her bluish hands seem to wish to spread my
thighs.
Remembering Max’s words; I shift
and spread my legs.
Her fingers open my bunn. . . my cunt
lips. Pulling on them, tugging, seeming to test their elasticity. I remind myself of Max’s words, ‘Let them do whatever they want to.’
Suddenly she inserts one finger,
then two. Her fingers investigate my
interior. She is not careful, but
neither does she cause me pain. She
withdraws her fingers, sniffs them, then tastes them.
With one hand she holds my bunny
lips apart, with her other hand she grasps my clittie between her thumb and
forefinger. She tugs, pulls, then
pinches me there on my most sensitive place.
She watches my face as she pinches my tender bud. She compresses harder and harder until I
wince.
She releases my abused clittie.
She beckons for me to follow her. She leads me into the little house.
It smells like incense, sweet,
slightly smoky, and quite dark.
As my eyes adjust, I sense more
than see a male off to my right.
The two of them talk to each other
in the lilting language of the native Jamaican. I understand nothing.
The woman takes my shoulders,
positions me with my behind pressing against a table, then pushes me,
apparently wishing me to lie down.
I do so.
She spreads my thighs, pushing
them apart until they are straight out to my sides, a ninety-degree angle to my
body. Her tattooed hands investigate my
hips and hip joints.
They mumble to each other in what
I hope is approving tones.
The woman ties my ankles to a pair
of staves that are beside the tabletop.
My ankles are loosely tied, the bonds cause me no pain. My hands are tied above my head.
The woman beckons to the
male.
When he steps between my thighs, I
see he is a young man, probably in his early twenties. He also has many tattoos. Some seem to be animalistic. Some are decorative.
I hear the whisper of
clothing. I look down to see that his
loins are now revealed.
As I watch, his heavily manhood
thickens, swelling upward and outward.
It rises as he stares, enraptured by my bunny. It is not until the head of his member rises
above the edge of the table, and the head of his penis pops from within his
foreskin, that I realize how prodigious his penis is. Even the head, the glans of his penis, is
tattooed!
I stare in disbelief! Tattoos hurt, right? That had to have hurt!
The woman is watching my
face. She chuckles as she sees my
expression.
She walks to a sideboard that is
against the wall of the room. There she
selects a jar from a number of jars, opens it, sniffs it, then closes the jar.
She picks up another jar, opens
it, sniffs it, then nods, apparently in approval. She hands the jar to the young man. He daubs some of its contents onto his penis,
coating parts of his glans and upper portion of his shaft. He seems to use the tattoos on his foreskin as
a guide as to where to smear the jelly like substance from the jar.
I watch in amazement as his penis
shrinks. His glans withdraws back within
his foreskin. His penile shaft falls to
vertical, nestling coyly between his very black heavily tattooed thighs.
The woman beckons to the man.
He steps between my legs.
The woman raises his penis and
aims the blunted tip at my opening.
The young man moves forward. The tip of his foreskin touches my opening. I can see pearly moisture within his foreskin.
He pauses for a few seconds, then
moves forward once again.
He adds a little pressure with his
hips until suddenly the moist head of his penis pops within me.
Thank god he is no longer
erect! His glans would have split me
open! Even “soft”, he is larger than I
thought possible for any man to be! My
sheath is expanded to its extreme limits as it is!
I think about my husband’s
penis. It has to be one-twentieth of the
size of this young man’s bulk.
The woman continues to urge him
forward.
His penis slowly, slowly slides
within me, inch by inch, spreading each inch of me wider than I have ever been opened
before.
When he is bout half way in, I
feel the tip of his penis press against the termination of my vagina . . . and
my bladder.
I wince.
They talk a little in their
musical dialect.
He pushes slightly. I wince again, this time with more conviction. Whatever he is lodged against is protesting
deep within my abdomen.
The woman nods, as if in
confirmation of her suspicions.
The young man backs away, his
penis withdrawing as he moves.
My body gratefully contracts back
toward its normal size.
The woman daubes the contents of
another jar onto the end of a few instruments, the likes of which I have never
seen before. She moves between my
thighs. In her hands are the implements she has coated. I have no idea what they are for.
She bends over, peers at my
opening, then inserts one of the implements.
It seems to be, perhaps, a very long, very thick finger. It is smooth, and the end is rounded.
Although longer, at least the
“finger” is a bit thinner than the young man’s penis!
She inserts the “finger” through
my opening, then slides it up inside me until the blunted head rests against
the termination of my vagina. I can
again feel the pressure against my bladder.
She moves to stand beside me. She places her hand on my tummy. She moves the “finger” inside me up and down,
as though searching for something inside me.
She says something to the young
man.
He steps beside me and places his
hand on the other side of my stomach.
They work their hands on my tummy,
seemingly massaging my stomach as the finger moves about within me. Their massaging motions become more
pronounced. Their fingers seem to be
pressing down hard, and sometimes sideward.
I don’t feel pain, only pressure in my tummy. Every once in a while I think I can feel as
if something might be moving deep inside me.
I now feel no sensation inside me
as the woman moves the long “finger”.
She looks at me and says, “You fly now.”
As they work, I begin to feel as
if I am lighter than air. My mind flits
about the rooms as if it has wings. My
ability to reason evaporates.
As I hover near the ceiling,
trying to watch what is happening to my inert body below, I notice that the
woman’s hand holding the long finger is much closer to my bunny opening than
before. I watch as sure enough, her hand
slowly moves closer and closer to my womanhood.
The end of the “finger” is not protruding past the heel of her hand any
more than before. Fascinated, it seems
as if the whole fingers is almost inside me.
How can that be?
After a few more minutes, I can feel
the knuckles of her fist pressing against my vaginal lips, even though I am
watching all of this from above.
The two of them murmur a few
times, then the woman withdraws the full length of the “finger” from inside
me! That whole thing, almost two thirds
as long as my arm, has been buried to the hilt inside my belly, inside my . . .
cunt! How is that possible?
The young man steps between my
legs then slowly inserts the head of his penis into me again. I feel my bunny bloating as he gently plods
forward, burying inch after inch of his member.
My bunny seems to offer little
resistance as it expands, and expands, and expands.
During what has to be at least a
half-hour, his whole prodigious penis disappears within me!
This time his blunt tip does not press
against the end of my vagina. I watch as
his full length buries itself chock-a-block within me! He does not stop until his hips are tight against
my bum.
The woman says something, and he
pumps a few times. I feel the drowsy
pleasure of being so wholly filled; I feel his penis moving within me. But I feel no pain.
They speak again as he withdraws
from me.
The woman hands him another jar,
which he opens. He spreads its content
on his member, then walks back to stand between my thighs.
The woman chants as she grips then
raises his member, aligns it with my opening, and then makes a motion toward me
with her head.
The young man presses forward, his
beautiful, shiny, long black member spearing into me inch by inch. He presses forward until, eventually, his
hips again come to rest against my buttocks.
I stare in utter disbelief! I have taken all of that? How can that possibly happen?
The woman says something.
I stare as my tummy starts to
rise. I feel his tumescence swelling
against the walls of my sheath.
I place my hand on my
stomach. I can feel it rising. I can feel the inner pressure as his
blackness swells within me.
I visualize just how large, how
thick it had been earlier. Oh my
god! He is getting an erection inside
me! He is causing my birth canal to
stretch and stretch until he is fully erect!
My belly swells and swells, even up
close to my rib cage! How is the
possible?
I realize that I have to pee. But I don’t dare! I will piss urine all over the young man!
I begin to grow desperate. I moan in fear.
“I have to use the lady’s room,” I
beg. “Please!”
The woman puts her hand on my
stomach and presses down.
I can’t hold it!
Against my will, I feel my bladder
release.
I hear the sounds of water
splashing.
I am mortified!
I close my eyes in mortal, burning
shame.
I feel slickened fingers on my
clittie.
As though I have no will power at
all, I begin to cum.
And cum!
And cum!
The old woman’s tattooed fingers
are mercilessly massaging and pinching and pulling at my clitoris. It feels incredible!
I cum, and cum.
I hear more sounds of splashing
down there as my whole body trembles in orgasm.
Those sounds of splashing liquids continue
as everything fades to black.
Seduction 61
When I awaken, the young man is
still inside me. Groggily I raise my
head.
He is still inserted to full
depth.
I put my hand on my normally very
flat stomach. But it is bulging.
I hear the melodic voice of the
old woman.
The young man slowly pulls away
from me about ten inches, then slowly reinserts himself fully.
When his penis moves within me, I
can feel my belly move.
He withdraws again, fully, then
reinserts himself.
Four times he does this.
It dawns on me that it does not
hurt when he moves his incredible thickness in and out of me.
I wonder how long I have been
unconscious. Has he been inside of me
the whole time?
The old woman holds a piece of
mirrored glass above my bunny. I stare
at the indecently thick penis joined with my body. She flicks her head as if to say, “Pull out.”
He does so.
The gaping hole that had only
recently been my very tight little . . . cunt shocks me.
That is me? That is how I look now? That monster hole?
But as I stare at the gaping cavern,
I see my bunny lips slowly retracting, growing smaller and smaller, until
finally it looks somewhat normal again.
The old lady says something.
The young man steps to between my
thighs and reinserts his thickness into me.
My cunt takes him without protest
this time.
I realize that I suddenly have no
problem thinking of my vagina as a cunt.
I decide that my opening truly is a cunt now that it can open to that
degree, to accept a penis as huge as what has been training me, my cunt, to
take super-sized sex organs.
The woman speaks again.
The young man unties my arms and
legs, then picks me up. He seems to be
able to carry me as easily as if I were a rag doll.
He carries me to a pool from which
tendrils of steam rise into the late afternoon sky.
Gently he lowers me into the
water, placing me on a seat that runs along the edge of the pool.
His cock is still rampantly
stiff.
He stands beside me, his cock at
water level.
I can’t help but stare.
He does not seem offended. In fact, he seems very proud of his
manhood.
He holds up a bar of soap. His face looks quizzical. He seems to be asking me if I want him to
wash me?
I nod, not sure I have the
strength left to wash myself.
His hands are gentle, but
thorough. He washes me from head to toe,
paying particular attention to my cunt and bum.
His fingers invade me deeply, though not so deep as his manhood had
probed.
He seems to enjoy washing my
breasts.
As I slowly recover my energy, I
watch his face. His tattoos are well
formed. They are even colorful.
“Do you speak English?” I ask.
He smiles. “Yes, speak English.”
My curiosity overcomes me. “What was that all about in there? Who am I being prepared for? Max?
Or somebody else?”
He smiles at me again. His eyes are intelligent and friendly.
“You prepare for tonight ceremony. Very important ceremony, yes? Tonight you make baby. Baby Shaman tonight made.”
‘Shaman?’ I think. ‘Isn’t a shaman a witch, or a magician, or
something like that?’
I think about the two twinges I
had felt earlier in my belly.
I look at the young man. Things are happening so fast that I am barely
able to focus on reality. Could I really
get pregnant at this late date, after my husband and I tried so hard for so
long?
“One baby, or two?” I ask, holding
my breath.
“Two,” is his reply. He smiles as he holds up two fingers. “Twin baby.”
Seduction 62
After meticulously drying my body,
the young man carries me back to the house, setting me gently onto a chair.
The old woman smiles at me as she
coats my breasts with the contents of another jar. “Meelk,” she says, hefting her own depleted,
saggy breasts.
The gooey stuff feels warm and
tingly on my skin.
Three women walk into the
room. The old woman gives them copious
instructions in her melodic language, complete with hand waving and
gesticulations. Several times she hefts
her own breasts as she talks.
The women begin pulling things
from bags that they brought with them.
Fabric, thread, sewing materials, and such quickly pile up on the table
I had been lying on.
They begin measuring me, using
string, then holding up lengths of fabric against my skin.
I watch in amazement as they
fabricate a dress right in front of my eyes.
They are amazingly efficient in their tasks. I find myself envying their dressmaking and
sewing skills.
I lose track of time. I ask one of the women what time it is. I am not sure if she even understands my
question.
All three of them speak excitedly
amongst themselves. I understand
nothing. It is as if I am but a manikin
for them to use to fashion a garment that will be displayed in a local shop
window.
My breasts begin to feel itchy
inside. I find myself trying to compress
them with my upper arms.
The three women giggle as they
watch my discomfort. Their eyes dance
brightly as they murmur what sounds like “Meelk!” to each other.
They hold my arm to steady me as I
step into what is apparently their final product. They pull the fabric up around my naked body,
tugging and wiggling the fabric as it encases me.
The fit is perfect.
Except my breasts are fully
exposed. They still feel squirmy,
unsettled.
I look down at them, expecting the
three seamstresses to begin work on a bodice for my dress.
The women leave.
I take advantage of their absence
to massage my girls. It does not help my
discomfort.
The old woman reappears, her eyes
flicking up and down my partially clothed body.
The sun is setting. The light becomes tinged with reds and
oranges.
Her weathered hands inspect the
seams and fit of my new garment. She
handles my breasts, squeezing them and joggling them as if they are hers to use
as she sees fit.
She walks around me, staring at me
in my new partially finished garment from all angles.
Finally she nods in apparent
satisfaction.
She looks up at me. Her face breaks into a gloriously white-toothed
grin.
For the first time I realize that
she is quite good looking. Her smile is
magnificent. She pats my cheeks. She massages my breasts.
My girls become less sensitive as
her skillful fingers work the achiness from them.
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