Disclaimers: This vacuous stroker is fiction. Everyone is over 18 and shuns condoms. Tags: mother-son, brother-sister, cousins, fuckfest, bisexual, multiracial, pregnancy. If you object, stop reading. Voices may be unreliable. Details may be incorrect. Opinions may not be the author's. Read prior chapters first. Enjoy!
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Stanley Steamer 08: Pam & Nikki
Mothers, sisters, aunts, and cousins, oh my!
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PAM
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Stan was off on another business trip, damn him. I missed him. I want him inside me.
And I missed the excitement. All that pot air-dropped on Yucca Valley, and I was asleep.
Palms Ambulance had recruited another paramedic so I managed to dial-back my shifts from thirty hours on, to twenty-four on, with thirty-six off. My pregnancy was advancing so I did not get the worst emergency runs. But I was still dead to the world for twelve hours after a long shift. If I was lucky, little brother Stan would be home to massage and fuck away my physical issues. If not, a hot shower and a soft bed had to do. Then, blessed nullity.
So I missed the drop. A smuggler's plane was chased north by police helicopters. The smugglers decided to dump the evidence - right over Yucca Valley. Most bales of primo marijuana landed in a big shopping mall parking lot. I do not know what happened to the smugglers. But residents of Yucca Valley noticed. The evidence vanished within minutes, before any cops arrived. Yes, this really happened. Look it up.
And I was asleep then. Without my little brother massaging me, kissing me, fucking me. I missed everything. I missed all those hours from my life. But I miss Stan the most.
I woke up in mid-afternoon after that excitement.
Or rather, I crawled naked from bed then, to pee and reload. The reload: tall mug of Mayan mocha dosed with mezcal, and basket of fruit and cheese nibbles. Set those on a rim-level table beside the galvanized horseless water trough. Dunk myself in the sun-tea water. Nibble and drink to reload and refresh. Feel desert wind and sun on my face, my shoulders, my boobs. Feel water in my long, dark, loosened hair. Listen to the breeze, to birds and distant motors, and small creatures skittering across the big boulders surrounding me.
That is when I woke up.
I was awake when I heard a motorbike crunching the rough dirt track leading to Rancho Relaxo. I recognized the buzz. That was Babs - botany professor and author Barbara Kim of High-Desert College was one of Stan's regulars.
I met her when she was several months along. Hot-wired pregnancy hormones drove her absolutely nutz. She needed mouths on her bloated boobs and pussy, cocks and boobs in her mouth and pussy, naval licks, full-body rubs, the works. And of course everyone wanted to rub her belly and boobs at the very least, and to satisfy her needs as friends.
Yes, I kissed and rubbed her, and she kissed and rubbed me, and I was not even preggers or bi then. Would I get like that? And how soon? So needy for contact, for sensory stimulation, for human confirmation. I felt my body buzzing already. I did not know whether to worry or exult. I knew I could not just sleep it off.
Babs rolled past the boulder-overhung fieldstone face of the 'cabin' to stop and kickstand her cycle by the rock-and-tin table beside Stan's big steel barn. That was a good place for her to unload.
We waved. She could see me in the trough from there. I could see her from here, the lean, helmeted, crazy Korean woman carrying her infant in a papoose-backpack. Wrinkled little Zane Kim wore a helmet, too. I think a bigger helmet would be needed every few weeks. But he was not too many weeks old now. Maybe she knew a custom helmet maker.
Onto that table went Zane in his pack, Babs's helmet, leathers. underthings, and boots, and items from her saddlebags: a plastic baby carrier, a diaper bag, and moccasins for her now-bare feet to cross the gravel and dirt. She toddled to me with bag and carrier in hand.
The bag and the carrier with its dozing payload went on the trough-side table after I pushed my reload debris aside. Babs slid into the trough and came straight to me for hugs, kisses, and fondling. Yes, I liked our fondling. Was that my hormonal kick?
"Pam, Pam, you're getting better all the time. Someday you'll be almost as good as me!"
More lips and hands. Babs was a nice armful, even post-partum.
Between kisses, I asked, "How can Zane sleep now? After a noisy, shaky motorbike ride?"
"That's the thing about riding dirt and sand tracks instead of pavement. I can go slow and safe, and he gets desensitized to the vibrations and racket. I'm just preparing him for the rocky road of life. That's my excuse. But I suppose I should get a car soon. I'll keep backpacks to take him on hikes."
She dunked. She surfaced face-up. Her black hair, loosed from her helmet, spread a halo on the water. She looked angelic.
She oozed past me to check on Zane. She knew better than to let him swim or float in this little trough. Babies pee and poop, you know. Let them swim in bigger bodies of water. Like Lake Mead.
"Stan's still gone, I know. I brought some notes for him. He asked about stuff for a project, and that's what I came up with. And there's a little about that big pot drop. I'll leave the packet on his desk. Umm, I gotta pee. Watch Zane for me. Don't let him float away. He's learning levitation."
Babs stepped out of the trough and into her moccasins. She picked a big envelope from her cycle's saddlebag and went in the kitchen door.
I viewed Zane. His hazel eyes looked at me and then closed. Did he look like Stan? Stan was one of the paternity suspects. Was Zane maybe my step-nephew? The Finnish language has one word to detail our possible relationship but I don't know it in Anglish.
Babs returned to the trough and relieved me of baby-watch duty. We sat together in the water and chatted. Zane open those hazel eyes and cooed.
"That's my signal. Excuse me."
Babs took to a nearby riverstone bench to nurse Zane. They were so beautiful - sacred madonna and godling. His mouth urgent on her nipples. Her glowing holy face. Will I glow like that?
Then came belches and other noises. The bench was a convenient diaper-changing station.
Babs returned for a quick dunk. Well, it started that way. But my hormones! I pulled her close. My hand guided hers to my pussy. I begged.
"Babs, please..."
She smiled. "Sure thing, girl. I know what it's like." Soft fingers stroked inside me. Other fingers and hot lips excited my tits. Was it sooner? Was it later? I do not recall the time but I certainly DO remember my fabulous cum. I happily succumbed to the "little death."
Babs eased me down. She kissed my mouth and then held my head to peer into my eyes.
"Okay, Zane's taken care of, I made my delivery, and you seem to be just fine. It's time to go now, to make another desensitizing run past the Orgasmatron." That is a weird dome in the desert. "Give my love to Stan and remind him that I don't do DNA tests so he can relax." Was that reassuring?
