by Freya Kane
The angle of his hips had him rubbing against my clit with every driving thrust, and I could feel the tension building inside me again. “Davis Davis Davis,” I whispered it like a mantra, the pleasure in my body having stolen my breath. My mouth opened in a silent scream as the pleasure crested over me and I came for a second time.
Davis didn’t hold back this time. His slow rhythm became faster and disjointed before he slammed forward, spilling himself inside me and filling my grasping pussy with his come.
The room was silent except for ragged breathing until Davis, always a slave to his art, eased out of me and staggered back to the easel on shaky legs, tucking his cock into his pants as an afterthought.
***
“You’re still thinking about him.”
I glared at the mass of plaid and bleached hair that was Nikki Blue, my endearingly tactless best friend. This week, her blonde hair was streaked with purple and she had traded in her usual attire of attitude-ridden tank tops and vinyl pants for a Catholic schoolgirl uniform with what looked suspiciously like scorch marks around the hemline. With Nikki, one learned not to ask questions.
Nikki handed me the small pink and white box. “You know you have to take this. Your boobs have grown about two sizes and you’re nauseous all the time. We both know what that means.”
After a few thousand instances of watching her reduce snotty salesclerks to tears with a few well-placed barbs, I thought I knew how to handle Nikki. Like a shark who had tasted blood, Nikki wouldn’t let a topic die until she was satisfied. She was exactly what I wouldn’t admit I needed.
“I can’t be.” I took the box from her and turned it over in my hands. Pregnant. For all my protests I knew she was right. Every encounter with Davis had ended with his come dripping down my thighs, and something had taken hold. “We’re not going to talk about this tonight.”
Nikki didn’t hear me. “You’ve hardly left this place for anything besides work since you kicked Davis out.”
I am calm. I am strong. I will not murder my best friend.
Nikki paced the length of the living room. I tried to focus on the clicking the heels of her patent leather boots made on the floor already covered with cigarette burns and scars from furniture long departed. Anything was better than listening to Nikki’s unnerving habit of always knowing the truth and forcing me to hear it.
“Look at me, Lia.” Nikki’s voice jerked me back to reality. “You told him to leave. You are the reason he’s gone. If you want him back, call him up and tell him you’re knocked up.” She knelt down beside the couch I had been sleeping on for the last eleven days. “Or don’t, but you can’t hide from this forever.”
“I’m not hiding.”
The look on Nikki’s face was a mixture of pity and condescension. “When you’re ready to rejoin civilization, give me a call.”
***
There was nothing special about the day Davis left. There was no catalyst, no one event that made me realize exactly why he had to leave. It was more like waking up from a beautiful dream. It was time.
I entered the quiet apartment, half-hoping he wasn’t there and I could stave off the inevitable for a few more hours. I didn’t get my wish. Asleep on the couch was Davis, his arms wrapped around his precious journal like a teddy bear. For the thousandth time, I wondered if those pages held the secrets to understanding who he really was. Tearing my eyes away from him, I wandered to the window.
The window came open easily, a rarity for this apartment. I stepped over the sill, speckled with mildew and bare wood where the old blue paint had peeled off, and onto the rusty fire escape.
I sat down on the cold metal and stared out at the city. The sounds from four stories below were muffled, leaving me with nothing to distract me from the decision I had to make.
Davis was my security blanket, but he was also dangerously close to becoming my crutch. As long as he was around, I was content. I could work my mind-numbing, soul-sucking job for eight hours, and then come home to be a muse for my pet rock star. I was so caught up in being his inspiration, that I stopped looking for my own. I didn’t want to be content anymore.
I don’t know how long I sat out there. I watched the day fade into twilight. It was too cold for early September. The taste of winter was riding the breeze that night.
“Lia?” I turned and saw Davis, silhouetted by the kitchen lights. His hair was tangled and his voice was still thick with sleep. He looked more like a little boy than the cultured badass he portrayed so well. “Come inside?”
I nodded. I took his hand and crawled through the window. My heel caught on the edge of the sill, and I toppled forward into Davis’s arms. Our eyes met, and I saw the briefest flicker of understanding in his before he kissed me.
Everything that night was raw. His mouth devoured mine in front of the open window, and those hands that could play a guitar and create the most beautiful paintings moved across my body like he was mapping it for memory. We rarely made it to the bed and this time was no exception. He pushed the straps of my dress off my shoulders, dragging it and my bra down to my waist so he could get to my breasts as he coaxed me to the floor.
On my back on the hardwood floods, I yanked at his shirt, wanting to feel nothing but his skin against mine for the last time. He pulled back long enough to rip the tee-shirt over his head before returning his attention to my aching breasts as he pulled my dress the rest of the way off, taking my panties with it.
His callused fingertips tickled me as he cupped my mound in his hand, stroking the periphery before probing my slick entrance with his fingers. Davis was always a talker during sex, reciting an endless commentary of his lust for my body, but that night he was silent.
He left my side long enough to shed his pants and then he was sliding inside me, filling me with that intoxicating cock. Tonight was not about impressive positions or anything beyond the wild abandon of our bodies coming together one last time. Wrapped in whispers and shadows, I almost loved him.
Davis’s fingers dipped between us, finding my clit with a familiar ease. Even now, he played my body with the same skill he wielded with the guitar and I choked back a cry as I came, my body quivering around him.
Davis was tense as an over-tuned string above me. Some part of him knew that this would be the last time he came inside me, and he tried to hold back. “Davis,” I breathed, breaking the silence and his control. His hips jerked forward as he emptied himself in me.
***
The air that night tasted of sangria and regret, and dawn came far too soon.
“You’re leaving, aren’t you?”
His quiet words shattered the illusions that the silence and darkness of the last hours had created. I was leaving his world. I couldn’t be a worshiper at his temple any longer. I looked into his chocolate eyes, already squinting in the growing light, and said the word that sent him away.
“Yes.”
He didn’t ask why. Davis simply disentangled himself from the red cotton sheets and gathered his clothes. He dressed slowly, traversing the apartment as he packed his scattered belongings. For someone used to living on other people’s couches, packing was a relatively easy task. It took him all of twenty minutes to fit his entire life into a duffel bag.
He paused in the doorway, holding his beloved guitar, the duffel bag, and a single painting. He leaned it against the wall, the back facing me. I expected him to say something profound that would help me make sense of why, but Davis was never one for easy answers. He smiled and no cynicism or sadness tempered it. The lips I had worshiped formed the barest whisper of my name, and he was gone, leaving me feeling like Sleeping Beauty finally awake after one hundred years in a fantasy.
I left the bed, resisting the urge to burrow into sheets that still smelled like him. The clutter I had grown used to seeing in strewn around the living room was gone with the exception of a single blank canvas, a battered toolbox, and a note. I recognized the paper, expensive parchment torn from the journal Davis hid fro
m all eyes. The one thing the eternal performer kept for himself. Scrawled across paper torn from his prized possession were seven words that remain burned into my memory.
His worshipers forgot themselves, but Dionysus remembered.
I flipped the painting around and saw the painting from that day, my nude body reclining on the couch, my curved hips and breasts painted with a reverence that made me feel like some sort of Earth goddess. Even the stark nudity of my open legs felt somehow innocent, and the look he had captured on my face was pure satiated pleasure.
I read once that there are three kinds of people we meet in our lives – those we meet for a reason, those we know for a season, and those we know for a lifetime. Back then, I thought Davis was a reason. I had thought my dreams dead and buried along with my confidence in myself as a woman and a sexual creature, but he brought them back to life with a kiss, a fuck and a paintbrush, and I would never forget him.
***
My body grew with each passing day, blossoming with the life growing inside me. My breasts seemed to double in size and my flat stomach grew rounder and larger. Before I realized it, I was eight months gone and big as a house. The worst part was I was endlessly horny and I had sent away to one person who had a chance at relieving that pressure.
I wanted him to have his freedom, but I thought he deserved to know so I dug through my desk until I found the scrap of paper I had written his number on when I deleted it from my phone, a level of foresight that surprised me.
“Come back?” I texted, too nervous to call.
Davis showed up at my door two days later.
“I left the city,” he said, the explanation dying in his throat when he saw my stomach. He gave me a questioning look and I nodded. “Fuck,” he said, wonderment filling his voice.
He started at me, his eyes raking over my body with the same intense scrutiny he had always reserved for his paintings. His breathing had deepened, and when he moved towards me, I could see the erection stretching his jeans.
“Fuck,” he repeated, “I want you so much right now.”
I felt the least attractive I had in my life with my round belly and my milk-heavy breasts, but Davis was staring at me like he wanted to devour me, and, whether I really wanted to admit it or not, I had made the call with the hope of just that.
Davis crossed the room to wrap his arms around my waist, pulling me against him, then he took a step back to gaze at me. I wore a simple slipdress made of stretchy fabric that clung to my swollen belly and breasts. My nipples were hard just from that simple hug and Davis’ eyes were laser focused on them.
“Now you really are a goddess,” he said, sounding almost reverent. “I want to taste you.” The look in his eyes left me with no doubt as to exactly what he wanted to taste, and I was more than happy to oblige.
I pushed the straps of my dress off my shoulders and my breasts were freed to his gaze. Davis dropped to his knees and wrapped his lips around my breast, sucking my aching nipple into his mouth. I shuddered at the strange sensation of my milk flowing into his mouth. The feeling of Davis drawing the milk out of my body and swallowing it was an interesting change from my usual experience as being the one swallowing down a thick, white fluid.
Davis’ hand snaked underneath my skirt, pushing the tight fabric up around my waist to reveal the plain black panties I wore. His hand crawled lower and cupped my crotch. I felt Davis’ lips curl into a smile against my nipple as he discovered how dripping wet I was. His thumb found my clit through the wet fabric and began rubbing it in small circles, never pausing in the pressure as he sucked on my nipple.
Even from that small amount of stimulation, my hormones had me already close to coming. I tangled my fingers in Davis’ hair and pulled him upwards, crushing his mouth against mine. His tongue slipped inside my mouth, and the sweet taste of my milk exploded over my taste buds. “Bed. Now,” I demanded, tugging Davis in the direction of my bedroom.
Clothes were yanked off impatiently in the way, leaving a trail of discarded clothing until we tumbled into my bed. My large pregnant belly made a lot of positions impossible, but there was nothing that would keep me from feeling Davis’ cock inside me. I straddled his hips and shivered as I felt his cock press against my opening. I was so wet that Davis slipped inside me easily, despite the long absence. We both cried out in bliss at the feeling of his cock stretching me open as I sank down.
I began a slow, rocking motion, rising and falling on Davis’ cock with the mountain of my belly in between us, my large breasts swaying with the movement. “So good,” Davis moaned, “Like burying my dick in an inferno.”
I could feel the pressure building in me, and every rocking thrust brought me closer to the perfect orgasm I’d been longing for since I discovered I was pregnant. Davis’ hands were everywhere, tracing the new contours of my body and relearning how they had changed before finding the familiar nub of my clit, pink and begging to be touched.
Davis pressed his thumb against my clit and began rubbing it with an unyielding pressure, exactly what my body needed to rocket me into a screaming orgasm. My inner muscles clamped down on Davis’ length, squeezing him tightly and milking the seed from his cock, a perfect mirror to Davis’ earlier milking of me.
Our orgasms seemed to go on forever, and I was close to blacking out from the pleasure. Davis had flooded my pussy with his come and my body seemed to never want to stop shivered. Finally, we were both quiet and relaxed, slumped down on the bed in blissful exhaustion.
***
I stole away from the bed where Davis still slept to the spare room that had been unused for far too long.
The toolbox creaked when I opened it. I dug through the small pile of brushes, reveling in the tactile memories of years ago. After selecting a brush, I looked at the dozens of tubes of paint. I ignored Cerulean, Eggplant, and Vermilion. Sepia and Ebony were tossed aside just as quickly. I pawed through the paint until I found a small unlabeled tube that looked out of place among the others. I unscrewed the lid and squirted the paint onto the stained wooden palette resting on the floor.
It was blue.
Not Aqua, Periwinkle, Azure, Cobalt, Indigo, Sapphire, or Turquoise.
Just blue.
As I drew a brush across a canvas for the first time in five years, I felt a pair of strong arms wrap around my chest and settle on the curve of my belly. I leaned my head back, resting it on Davis’ shoulder, and smiled.
Bred in my Sleep
by
Freya Kane
I’ve always been a very light sleeper. It’s actually a pretty big pain because just about anything will wake me up. A car backfiring, my sister coming home late from a party, my Dad leaving early for work. Any little noise that was out of the ordinary yanked me out of a deep sleep.
In college, I rented a house with three other roommates, all guys. I know that seems weird and even a little slutty, but nothing was going on with any of them. They were all genuinely nice guys, and the living arrangement just worked for us.
Jackson was the quiet guy. An engineering major, he spent almost every waking moment studying and working on his terrifyingly complex homework. Between his major being something like 80% male and having gone to an all-boys private school for his entire life, Jackson was pretty terrible with girls. Almost painfully shy, the three of us spent a lot of time trying to draw him out of his shell. The sad thing was, with some practice Jackson could have pretty much any girl he wanted. Hiding behind those glasses and downcast blue eyes was a handsome face and a killer smile.
Andrew was the most easy-going of the three. As a Spanish major who naturally excelled at languages, he had a ton of free time. A fairly steady stream of girls followed him home, but I rarely saw the same girl for more than a week. I’d caught him in various stages of undress on the couch, even walked in on him balls deep in a skinny brunette from my chem class once. Andrew just gave me a nod and kept going. The girl didn’t even notice.
Tim was a gym rat. He majored in busin
ess because “I had to pick something!” One of those guys that could sell ice to someone half-dead from hypothermia, Tim had all the makings of a sales and marketing genius. The trail of girls that followed him home wasn’t quite as long as Andrew’s, if only because Tim was a bit pickier, but Tim definitely had shown off his muscles to most of sorority row.
Finally, there was me, Rachel with the three Bs - blonde, busty, biology major. I spent a lot of time studying myself, though not quite as much as Jackson. My sex life had been pretty non-existent since moving in with the boys though. Classes and studying ate up a lot of my time, and spending my free time playing video games with my roommates was just a lot more fun than another boring date with another boring guy from my organic chem class. So what if that meant the only fingers between my legs were my own?
