Jackson and the Goddess
Short story by Ren
I can see the bags under Allison’s eyes and I hate it. She waddles into our cramped TV room, sidestepping a pile of romance books she’s left near the hallway, knocking over a picture of Dad and I on a fishing trip together that sits on the entryway table next to our keys. I pause my game to reach behind me and lift the picture back up, my arm momentarily blocking Allison’s path to the couch as she tightens the knot on her grey Moby wrap, a long piece of stretchy fabric that now swaddles our tiny perfect Arya against her chest. She settles down next to me to feed the baby. “Hey my girls” I coo and squeeze Allison’s arm in support. She doesn’t react. Her shirt is stained, her hair an unwashed mess.
“Call of Duty again? What happened to that other game you were playing? At least that one had a story I could watch.” She says quietly. She sounds tired. She’s always tired lately.
“Oh, Expedition 33. Yeah, I’m just unwinding after work.” I say, distracted. I’m in the Terminal map, lining up my scopes on another player running past. I hear her sigh. “What’s up? You ok?” I ask, half in my living room, half in a war zone.
“We’re almost out of diapers again.”
“Yeah ok I’ll get some tomorrow.” I say. “Yes!” I exclaim happily as I land the shot. Arya jumps and starts crying. Shit. Her tiny face looks hilariously furious at me and I almost chuckle before I spot a matching expression on the woman holding her.
“Goddamnit Jackson! Not tomorrow, NOW.” She commands as she adjusts Arya back into the wrap. My eyes linger on her lips. Allison is hot when she's angry, and I'll take fire in her eyes over the dull exhaustion I usually get lately.
“Why don’t I take Arya, and you can get the diapers? That way I can relax a bit.” I chuckle and add, “You and the diapers.” An inside joke, but I realize suddenly, a mistake. I feel her angry stare lock onto me like the sniper scope in my game. I would reflect on how smouldering she is without meaning to be if I wasn't getting agitated.
She steadies her aim, and fires, “Because one of us got a full night's sleep last night and the other one was up with Ariadne” She’s been punctuating conflict with our daughters full name, a premonition I imagine, for our baby girl’s misadventures to come.
“Hey that’s not fair, I have a regular job, Allison! I have to sleep.”
She doesn’t respond, instead sitting very still on our faded blue couch, her eyes watering. “I’m not ok Jackson. I need more. I’m nursing a newborn with a partner that has no idea how to help. I’m exhausted. God damnit Jackson I feel like a fucking ghost. And DON’T–” She punctuates this word with her finger pointed at me, “tell me to just ‘let you know’ when I need help. This is so much harder than I thought it would be.” The last part she whispers, the fight leaving her. I miss how she was before Arya showed up. Parenthood was supposed to make us a family, but it feels more like it’s tearing Allison apart, leaving me with these hollow pieces of her and only memories of the sweet, smiling woman I married. I almost miss lugging in those boxes for her weird book she wrote about dragons that had made much more money than either of us thought it would. Almost. As I leave to get the diapers, I close the door gently so I don’t startle Arya a second time.
—-------------------------------------------------
“Hey mom, I called because I wanted to ask you–” I start but she interrupts.
“Jackson! How’s our little baby girl doing? Oh you wanna talk to Jim? Dad talk and all that. Hang on a tick, JIM!” She shouts loud enough that I pull the phone away from my ear.
“No mom I actually–”
“Hey Jack, how's the new family, son?” My dad’s deep voice takes over the call, replacing my mother’s honey with gravel and gasoline. I can picture him instantly, the very poster of classic american manliness, all muscle and beard and grease stained pants. “Are you loving it?” I can hear his smile.
“Well actually… no Dad. Allison is really struggling and I don’t really know what to do. She’s not sleeping and it seems hard for her. Was it hard like this for you guys?” I ask.
“Oh it’s always hard,” Dad says, “They get used to it you know. Allison probably just needs some space. Girls are made for this sort of thing, best to just stay out of their way!” He laughs at himself and continues, “She’s a smart girl that Allison, I always liked her. She’ll make a great mom.”
I breathe out. It’s nice to hear his voice, it’s steady. I always wished I had a voice like Dad’s. I wander around our tiny living room and pluck a string on my dusty acoustic guitar in the corner. “Yeah ok. She snapped at me today after work.”
“During your call of duty time? Oh that’s tragic!” He laughs again, “A man’s gotta be able to relax after a day of work! How’s that job treating you anyway? I bet it’s a nice escape from the hen house at least.”
It’s not. It’s hard to like inquiries about hardware failures, risk assessments and legal complications. Everytime I’m in the office it feels like I’m missing everything. “Yeah it’s nice.” I say, as I pass Allison’s small desk, notes spread over it next to the pink highlighter she used to write “Under the Dragon Wing” on a post it note.
“She’s just adjusting son, you’ve got a good girl, she’ll manage, it’s not all that hard really. She’s right where she belongs now. I bet she can change those diapers now!” Dad says. The last part is a joke. She’s a smart girl. Allison once asked my Dad to change Arya’s diaper. The newborn returned with a backwards diaper that was falling off. My Dad taught me how to disassemble engines. He was clever and proud of it. It was clearly intentional, and we all knew it. Allison happily thanked him, and took Arya. The diaper leaked later and Mom had helped to clean. In the chaos, Allison handed a pee soaked Arya to Dad again, and asked if he’d change her diaper a second time. By the fifth time Allison exclusively asked Dad for help, he looked put out, but Arya’s diaper was on correctly. I had never in my life seen anyone manage my father like that. And then that night…
She’s a smart girl.
“Smart woman, you mean.” I mutter.
“What’s that?” Dad asked.
“Can I talk to mom?” I ask quickly.
“Oh sure bud, hold on.”
A pause and then my mother’s honeyed voice is back, “Hi sweetie.”
“Was it hard for you? With me when I was a baby?” I ask. I expect a quick answer. Some variation of what my dad said, that she was a natural mother, that it was easy. That all of this was natural. I wait for her to tell me how blessed she was and how beautiful I was and how it all worked out.
Instead my mothers voice quietly says, “I’ll never forget how hard it was.”
Then I ask a question I didn’t even know I had, “Did you wish dad helped more?”
“Yes.” she whispers, then “but don’t tell him that.” and she chuckles. She tells me how she was so tired she didn’t even know what she wanted or needed, how hard it was to feed me sometimes, apparently I was picky about bottles, but that I slept well, and she was grateful for that.
“Women go it alone, in the beginning. We learn how to survive, and then we pick up the pieces of ourselves after. It’s how it always is, being a woman is hard. Allison is strong, but if I had a piece of advice, it would be to help her. Do more than you think, and don’t ask what you’re supposed to do.”
“Ok but I am helping Mom!” I say. I want to stop myself but it all comes pouring out, “I’m the one working. She stopped to take care of Arya. It’s not like I can breastfeed, and Allison is dead set on not using formula right now. I feel like if I help, she’ll just tell me I’m doing it wrong. I do need her to tell me what she wants, I’m not a goddamn mind reader!” I pluck at the guitar again, letting the twang punctuate my words.
“Stubborn like your father.” Mom chuckles. It feels worse than if she had yelled.
“What does that mean?”
“It means your father knows how to change a diaper sweetheart.” I don’t know what to say to that. There’s a bitterness in mom’s voice that surprises me, punching a tiny hole in my memories of them together.
—-------------------------------------------------
I’m on my phone in the bathroom catching a moment of solitude. I hear Arya crying again. There are two blue diaper caddy bags tied up next to me. She’ll be ok… right?
She’s right where she’s supposed to be.
Am I right where I’m supposed to be? I make good money, I have a family now. I love my wife, so why does something feel wrong? It’s like I’m pushing against a current, while everyone is telling me to just swim harder.
My phone is a cacophony of stimulus I can bury myself in for a few moments. Allison sent me a message at 3 AM this morning. Sorry for snapping at you. I’m just tired. I miss writing. Dad sent me a gif of a man dropping his smartphone on a baby, the point of which is a little lost on me. Mom sent me a heart emoji. I scroll tiktok. There are some guitar videos that make me ache a little, and some odd cat videos I’m getting because Allison finds them hilarious and I used to show her ones I thought she’d like. She finds pet birds even funnier, and I get a few of those too. There’s one of a cockatoo whistling the theme to My Neighbor Totoro that makes her cry for reasons neither of us can understand.
There’s a video titled, “My girl needs a strong man” that shows a man in dark clothing and sunglasses coming home to a smiling woman in a sundress, lifting her up and carrying her down a hallway. The implication is that he’s come home from work, and they’re about to have sex. I watch it loop five or six times because it confuses the hell out of me. Why was this on my For You Page? I take a closer look and realize it’s an ad for a “men’s wellness” brand that sells clothing and supplements. Oh god, gross. I get a little turned on by the woman, her dress is revealing, her breasts half out. Man I am pent up lately. I can’t stop looking at her, and I set my phone down and rub my temple. When was the last time Allison and I had sex? Then I remember, it was at my parents, after Allison had managed to get Dad to help with changing diapers. I was desperate for her that day, I practically attacked her that night in the guest room. I hadn’t felt that way since then. I guess Allison isn’t the only one who’s tired.
I hear a crash and bolt out of the bathroom. I find Allison sitting on the kitchen floor, her head buried in her arms. I fear the worst until I see Arya laying on her play mat, perfectly safe and happy. There’s milk on the kitchen floor, and a pumping bag. Allison is sobbing loudly, big shaking cries as all of her pain pours out of her. I stand stunned for a moment, watching her.
Allison isn’t settling, she’s breaking. Somehow, I wonder if my dad would approve.
She’s right where she’s supposed to be.
Fuck that.
I sit in the milk with her and hold her. Her abrupt sobs are infectious and I let my own tears drop next to hers. The smell of the milk is sweet and it’s warm on my legs. She shakes for a few minutes longer. A knot loosens just a little, deep in my chest. “I’m sorry.” I whisper. Allison lets out a huge sigh and wipes her eyes. I can feel her finally relax. “I want you to go get some sleep. I’ll handle Arya for the night.” She protests and asks questions and finally I convince her. A well rested Allison would never be this flexible, but she’s too exhausted to argue for long. She leaves and I pray she’s actually sleeping.
—-------------------------------------------------
It’s two in the morning. Arya has been screaming for twenty minutes. If I thought her scrunched up angry face was funny before, I don’t now. I’m convinced the moby wrap requires an incantation only women know to operate, so my solution is to angrily throw it onto the stained wood dining table in a heap. I’m holding Arya in my left arm while I frantically get pumping bags out of the freezer. I realize I don’t know how much Arya eats at one time. I need a way to warm up the milk from frozen and it seems like nothing will work fast enough. Allison said not to microwave the bags. There’s a device on the counter that seems to be a bottle warmer, with water in it. I try turning it on, but the light flickers and dies and I’m not sure why, so I stupidly flip the device over to look at the cord, spilling water everywhere. “Fuck!” I curse to no one. Arya’s wails take on a new anxiety and her stress seeps into my skin. “I know Ariadne, I’m trying, baby girl!” I feel like I’m saying it to myself more than her.
Maybe Dad was right after all.
Eventually, I stop moving and let out a long sigh. “God damnit.” I whisper. I walk into our bedroom to find a pile of blankets. At first I assume Allison has woken up, but I realize I can see a lock of dark hair peaking out from her green striped cave of warmth. Under the cloud of fabric I spot earplugs in her ears. The guilt rips into me as I rock her awake. “I’m… I’m sorry, it’s the bottle warmer, it wouldn’t –” She sits up quickly, grabs Arya, places the baby on her breast in one smooth motion and all at once the crying stops, replaced by little hums as Arya drinks. The quiet feels too heavy to carry and I slump down with the weight of it.
“It’s fine.” Allison’s voice is flat. She might as well stab me in the chest. I failed.
“Well that’s not fair, I can’t do that.” I joke, gesturing to the two of them. Neither of us laugh.
—-------------------------------------------------
“Morning.” Allison says through a yawn, looking marginally less ghost-like than yesterday, punctuated by her pink crop top. I can see her midriff as she reaches into our kitchen cabinets for a coffee mug, her stretch marks wiggling with her movement. I want to grab her hips with both hands and feel my fingers squeeze into her. She notices the coffee that’s already made. I stayed up and prepared for this moment.
“I’ll take her.” I say and I make a show of tying the moby wrap around myself. It took three different YouTube videos, but now I know how to overlap it, that it needs to feel impossibly tight at first. I settle Arya into it and she looks up at me with her big brown eyes and I melt a little. She’s so warm against my chest. She looks so much like Allison, but her tiny wispy curls are mine. I know one day, I’ll be the one teaching her how to take care of that unruly hair. I imagine myself brushing my daughters hair and my face gets hot, tears asking to escape. Her eyes look right into mine, and then around the room, endlessly curious. Allison is watching me as she pours herself a cup of coffee.
“Can you show me how to use the bottle warmer? I tried last night but it wouldn’t turn on all the way.” I ask. Allison lets out another yawn and stretches. Her shorts hike up and I stare at her ass. I consider slapping one of her cheeks. It would piss her off. Maybe I want that, I think, and then roll that thought around when I lock eyes with her, caught. She watches me a moment before turning away and saying, “I meant to tell you, was too tired. That outlet has a breaker on it. It’s the only spot the warmer will fit but it trips the breaker every so often. Doesn’t happen a lot. Bad luck.” She takes a sip out of her “shut up and write” mug from the local meetups she used to go to, and lets out a satisfied hum. She shows me how to work the bottle warmer, then how much she usually gives Arya. She shows me how to tie the diaper caddy bags and I take out the extra ones. She shows me the baby monitor, unopened in the box. She shows me what baby supplies can go in the dishwasher, and I notice she’s loaded the knives blade side up. “So they wash better,” she says. I don’t argue, even though I will never load them that way. I stare at those knives wondering if I married a crazy person as she shows me the nursing pillow, so I know how to remove the cover to clean it. I take it all in. I’m wired and behind on sleep. This morning I demanded paternity leave, something my workplace discouraged me from taking. It’s just a few weeks, but it’s something.
Following Allison around, listening as she calmly gives me instructions, that strange knot in my chest loosens more. It’s a tightness I think has always been there, telling me how things are supposed to be, a template given to me by my parents. I feel Allison’s voice winding itself in the gaps of the tangle inside of me, prying me open. As we talk about laundry detergent and the diaper caddy, I linger on the light hitting her skin in golden patches, the loose braid she’s tied her hair into, the way her nails tap on items as she talks. We step around one of her book piles in the hall and I notice the tabs sticking out of them. This moment feels mundane and magic and I sink into it and feel Arya’s warmth against my chest echoing a warmth that fills me from the inside. Joy. I’m feeling joy.
—-------------------------------------------------
I haven’t talked to my dad in a couple months. I have talked to mom and asked her more questions. Pieces of my childhood have started to fall into place, forming a much darker picture than I had originally thought. It makes me terrified and peaceful at the same time. Allison has Arya on the couch next to me. I’m playing Call of Duty, just finishing up a match. She’s quiet. When the match is over I set my controller down and cross the room to grab the dusty guitar in the corner. Sitting down across from Allison, I pluck at it experimentally. It’s out of tune, so I get to work on it as Allison finishes up and puts Ayra down to sleep next to us in a little pack n’play we got at the local children’s consignment. “I know you’ve been poking around my book collection.” She says. I look at her while I turn the pegs and listen to the strings. She’s right. Now that I stay up at night with Arya sometimes, I got curious and started reading some of Allison’s romance books. “Find anything interesting?” Her whole face lights up, the bags under her eyes gone. Her hair is clean and she’s wearing her favorite oversized black T-shirt with a long haired cat wearing a tiara, typing onto a desktop computer with the words “I AM YELLING, CARL!” written under it. It’s from her new favorite book series that she’s been begging me to read for over a month now.
“You mean the book with the guys who fuck constantly and turn into snakes? Or did you mean the one with the alien men that have a barb on their junk? Or maybe you mean the one where she summons a demon.”
She laughs. “My book is just as weird.” She walks over and grabs one with a skull on the cover, flipping through it. “Any thoughts?”
“You bookmarked a bunch of sex scenes, was that research? What um…” I set my guitar down and shuffle a little, nervous, “What do you get out of it? I mean the monsters and dragons and stuff?”
“It wasn’t research at first. I mean I just liked having those scenes for when I wanted to reread them and feel…”
“Horny?”
Her cheeks go pink and she looks away. “Yeah.”
“But why monsters?”
She thinks for a minute and puts her hands in her lap, sitting criss-crossed. “I think it’s what being with a man feels like. Men are scary, big, unpredictable. You’re unreadable and confusing.” I wince, imagining my dad’s imposing figure, another thing I’ve inherited from him. I don’t know if I want to be scary, big and unpredictable. “But you’re also beautiful and alluring, comforting and firm. I think sometimes being with a man feels like being with a dragon, or a bear.” I look down at my hands and flex them, pondering what she’s said. I can’t see it, but I think I get it. I certainly relate to the fascination with our differences, how soft Allison is, how wide her hips are, how her back bends and arches. How wet and warm she gets… fuck.
“Do you masturbate? I mean have you, since?” I ask.
Before she answers, Allison stands up and rolls the pack-n’play down the hall. Arya sleeps for longer now, but is still easy to wake. The pack-n’play has wheels that make it easy to move around as long as we’re careful. It’s a funny boundary, one that doesn’t matter now, but will and maybe the distance is more for us to feel like adults than for Arya to feel like a baby. She knocks over one of her books and I hear her curse quietly and tiptoe back. “Yes.”
“How often?” I ask, rubbing my hands together.
“You first.” She says and looks at me. My heart beats faster.
“N-Not often, maybe like once or twice a week, but I didn’t in the beginning when things were harder, even though I wasn’t helping as much.” Did I just stutter? Get it together.
“Oh.” She says and looks sheepish, her cheeks going red and she curls up tighter.
“Oh is that more than you?” I ask “I mean that’s pretty typical right?”
“Um…I do it every day.” She says, “Sometimes twice.”
What? My thoughts pick up speed as that revelation hits me. I imagine her hiding in the bathroom with her vibrator muffling moans while I’m out here playing video games. I’m annoyed and aroused at the same time.
“Oh. Since when?”
“Since I was fifteen.”
“No I mean, when Arya was new?”
“I think I took a two week break.” I laugh involuntarily at that, my eyebrows going up. She chuckles but I can see she’s still nervous. She couldn’t shower, but she could do that. Her eyes dart sideways towards her bookshelf as she bites her lip. Her cheeks flush.
“Hold on.” I say, setting my guitar down and standing up. In the past I haven’t been interested in Allison’s sex toys, but right now I have an idea I can’t shake and I’m in the bathroom before I have time to second guess myself. Maybe I’m coming off as desperate, but I don’t care. I only ever see one toy plugged into the wall. It’s pink and has a hole on the end of it. I have a vague idea of what that hole is for. I know it must be her favorite. I grab it and bring it into the living room. I hand it to her. “What’s your favorite sex scene in these ridiculous books?” I ask. She points to a book, then she points to a labeled scene.
“This one, but you can’t make fun of it.” She says sternly. Fuck it’s hot when she looks at me like that. Really hot. We sit across from each other, and I tell her to use her toy, and I start reading aloud. The man in this scene has some sort of psychic connection with the woman, and can literally read her thoughts. He’s also quite aggressive and controlling, and he turns into a giant werewolf halfway through the scene. It is sweet in it’s own strange way as the characters open up emotionally to each other. I've never seen male arousal described as “aching.” This was clearly written by a woman. I try not to laugh, keeping my voice serious, and I forge ahead.
Allison’s desire opens like a daisy to the sun, slow at first but then undeniable. She pulls her grey sweatpants down and nestles the toy under her red lacy underwear without removing them. I hear the buzzing, suctioning sound of the toy as she wiggles herself around trying to get just the right access to her clit. I see it in her face when she finds it, her expression relaxes, her eyebrows go up, the flush in her cheeks deepening. I'd prefer it was my tongue on that spot, tasting her sweet pussy but I can tell how much she's enjoying herself right now. We used to find each other in the dark after work, making quick work of our needs before collapsing into sleep. Sometimes I knew it was quite good for her, the sounds she used to make were ones I doubt she could fake, but often those sounds were quieter, and she’d disappear into the bathroom afterwards. Now, I can see her clearly in the warm glow of lamps she collected from antique shops, her skin a pale caramel that makes me lick my lips between sentences as she locks those dark eyes on me again. She closes her eyes, then opens them over and over riding the slow building waves of pleasure and her expression changes.
I’ve seen that expression before, when was that? Then I remember.
That night at my parent’s. It wasn’t Allison's ability to manipulate my mountain of a father, it was that look she gave me. When no one could see her, she flashed me a smug grin that said, Yes, I know exactly what I’m doing, and I’ll win. It was a quiet confidence that made me shiver, and those eyes held the same confidence now, telling me that she knew what she wanted, and she would take it. I read the last couple of sentences, no longer incredulous at the subject matter as goosebumps cover my arms.
She pulls forward, slaps the book out of my hand, and kisses me with a groan, pushing her tongue into my mouth and licking the inside of it aggressively, one hand still between her legs as the buzzing continues. I pull her into me, desperately for skin and those fucking hips and we tangle together on the couch, her legs restricted by her sweatpants still holding her thighs on either side of her arm. She makes a frustrated sound and stops her vibrator but I grab her wrist. “No.” I say. This close, I can smell her arousal. I need to fuck her. I need my cock buried deep in her hot cunt and I need to feel her squeeze around me. I need to see her eyes roll up when I do it. If I’m this large imposing bear as Allison describes me, then she is something far more powerful. I become single minded and I look into her blazing eyes. That expression snuffs out any hope I have of control and I lay very still, my heart hammering in my chest. What is happening?
She resumes what she started and I help her with her pants with shaking hands, pulling my shirt off and then my boxers, revealing how hard I am. It usually takes a little attention to get me to this point. Allison notices and stops her vibrator, throwing it next to her book and then rakes her gaze over me silently. I’m naked under her while she’s still half clothed and I feel vulnerable and exposed and I love it. I know she loves my cock. Now I want her to use it.
She straddles my chest so I can see just how soaked her underwear has become. She points to the red lace and says, “Take these off” with the same biting command in her voice as when she told me to go get diapers. I pull her underwear down slowly, tempted to pull forward into her pussy, but what I want more is to hear her tell me to. Instead, she removes her Dungeon Crawler Carl shirt and bra, her perfect, swollen breasts bouncing into view and wiggles down between my legs, licking the precum off of me and I let out a groan. God, that first touch of her tongue right on the tip is always so good. I don’t normally make sounds during sex and Allison notices the change and glances up at me.
“Interesting.” She says. I let out a whimper in response. A whimper. I’ve never whimpered in my life, but I can't remember when I've been this aroused and not grabbed her and buried myself in her. The grin I see on Allison’s face in response makes me twitch, it feels like all of my blood is down between my legs right now. She seems to know the effect she’s having because she stops her tongue swirling much sooner than I'd like. She rises up above me, looking down at me like a lion regarding it’s prey. “Don’t. Move.” She commands. I nod quickly. I couldn’t move if I wanted to at this point. Allison’s orders don’t so much wind their way into that loosened knot in my chest so much as shove their way inside, forcing her will into me in the most delicious way, one I’m struggling to understand at the moment. I just know I feel so good I want to live here on this couch with her over me forever, staring up at her stretch marks and her plump breasts and full lips and her ruthless gaze. She slowly lowers herself onto me and I slide all the way to the hilt on the first try. It surprises both of us. It usually takes a little work to bury myself fully but this feels….amazing. Finally. She moves her hips so slowly I start to unravel, I can't take it.
“Allison, you’re killing me here. I’m gonna lose it.” I whine. She smiles like she’s been waiting for it.
“When I say stop, you fucking stop, ok?” She says. I don’t entirely know what she means by that but I nod, my mind pleading for whatever she has in mind next. “Go ahead then, lose it.” She says. I need no more encouragement. I grab her hips hard, and kick the coffee table out of the way while I hold her on my cock. There's no chance I'm leaving this hot vice pulsing around me. Unless she tells me to. I pin her to the shaggy green Ikea carpet and find a quick rhythm, pounding into her and reveling in the yelps that come out of her. I’m really starting to lose control now. We’re both rough and wild, kissing deeply through grunts and moans. She grabs my curls and pulls hard. The pain heightens my pleasure and I log that somewhere in the part of my brain trying to make sense of what's happening. I like it when Allison is bossy. I like pissing her off a little. I like it when she uses me. I like it when she pulls my hair.
We roll together, tumbling into her bookshelf and books rain down on me, hitting my back and falling onto the floor. “Ow, fuck!” I exclaim and in some small revenge, I bite into her shoulder. She’s moaning way too loud, but I could give a fuck about waking up the baby at this point. Suddenly I hear her say, “Stop.”
I almost can’t. It takes so much focus to listen. I’m slowing more than stopping when suddenly I lift up and something warm and wet sprays all over my face. “Oh my god I’m sorry!” She says as she wipes my face and starts giggling. It’s milk. Her breasts must have reacted to all the friction and sprayed me. I start laughing and lick my lips. It tastes like extra sweet almond milk. I like it, but that may be for other reasons. We both stay there connected to each other, I can feel her pulse around me now and then as we break into uncontrollable laughter… I can tell Allison is on the edge of climax and embarrassment. I can see it in the way her eyes rake over me hungrily, and I intend to feed that hunger before it dissipates. I take one of her breasts in my mouth, suck on her perfect erect nipple and drink more of her milk, the sweet smell of it hitting me as her body responds to my sucking and it shoots straight into the back of my mouth. She writhes and moans, pushing her hips into me again. Ok, she likes that.
I lift up slowly, letting it drip down my chin to say, “It’s quite alright” and look up at her. That lion’s glare stares back at me. “Slow.” She says. I start moving again in and out, relaxing into it. I watch myself disappear into her, then come out covered in her arousal. I see her stretch for me with every slow thrust. My groans soften, my eyes glaze. I’m on top of her, but I feel more like I’m kneeling at her feet, praying to this goddess that surrounds me, her will coiling around my mind and puppeting me. My cock belongs to her. A euphoria fills me and I start losing myself completely. “Stop.” She whispers.
“Yes maam.” I whisper back. She pulls my head down to her breast again and I drink her milk. All of her is warm and wet. She instructs me to speed up, and I wonder if she’ll let me finish this time. I wonder if I want to, I’ve stopped caring. She holds my head there, moaning and wriggling under me, a smile across her face and she says, “Good boy.”
“Oh fuck Allison!” I exhale as the pleasure slams into me, those two words starting a wave that is agonizingly slow at first and then violent, ripping my orgasm from me and pushing it straight into her. I see her head throw back and feel her own orgasm pulse around me, and then out onto the carpet under us. I hold her through her convulsions until we collapse tangled together surrounded by colorful books with tabs sticking out of them, like two vines with flowers blooming. Neither of us move for several minutes as my mind returns to normal. Tears brim in my eyes and I feel confused but deeply satisfied at the same time. I kiss her cheek and she cups my head in both of her hands and looks up at me. “I love you.” She says, her own eyes watery.
“I…I love you too.” I say. “What the hell was that?”
She chuckles, “That was great.” She says through a huge sigh of satisfaction.
I hear Arya in the hallway stirring awake and starting to whine. “I’ll get her.” I say, “I got her, you take care of yourself.” I kiss Allison one more time before pushing myself up to stumble into the bathroom, grabbing my shorts on the way. A stupid grin is plastered to my face as I eventually reach for my baby girl. She’s hungry, and I know just what to do, so I get to work.
