by Viva Fox
Unable to take it anymore, Jetson made up his mind. He needed to get to the bottom of this. He just prayed that Nicole still lived in the same apartment. Getting in his car he drove to her old place, relieved to see her car parked in its usual parking spot.
He tried to keep his anger in check, but it was difficult as he thought about how Nicole had ruined his entire life. Why did she have to get pregnant? Hadn’t they always used condoms? Wasn’t she on the pill? What girl wasn’t on the pill these days? It didn’t make any sense.
He rang the doorbell and after a very long time the door opened. He rushed inside, slamming Nicole against a wall. He had promised himself he wouldn’t use violence, but there he was. He wasn’t the type of guy to hit girls, but he wasn’t thinking straight either.
He pinned her to the wall harder, holding onto her arms until he was sure they would bruise.
“Ow… Jet… you’re hurting me!” Nicole whimpered, looking up at him.
“You should have thought about that before you ruined my whole life! Because of you I have nothing. Nothing!” He was screaming at her. She could see his hand curling into a fist and she squeezed her eyes tight, fearing the worst.
He was about to swing when something stopped him. He felt a gentle tug on his pants. He looked down to see his son grabbing hold of his pants, trying to pull himself up into a standing position before falling down and crying.
For some reason, Jetson let go of Nicole and leaned down, picking up his son. The baby stopped crying once he was in his father’s arms and for some reason that made Jetson proud. Did the baby know he was his father? Jetson looked into the baby’s big blue eyes and calmed down a bit.
This baby was his, he knew it. He held the baby a little longer. Jetson was slowly falling in love with his son, just like his own father had fallen in love with him the day they met, the day his mother had died.
It’s amazing how a baby can capture a man’s heart. They could hate the mother or love the mother, but at the end of the day the baby was still theirs. It wasn’t the baby’s fault they were brought into this world. A baby was just a baby and they weren’t the ones to blame for a parent’s mistake. Jetson sighed, his anger subsiding, he couldn’t believe the rage he just felt. Embarrassed by his actions he spoke.
“He’s mine, isn’t he?” Nicole could only nod. She didn’t know what to say and she was still in shock after being accosted. “Are you sure?” She nodded again. Jetson sighed, louder this time. There was no denying it. This was his son. But what would he do now that he had a son?
Could he really be a father figure to this child? As he held the baby he thought back to his own birth. He was the son of a waitress, a woman his father had fucked for fun on a one night stand, but in the end, even the mighty Armando had taken on the role of a father in order to raise Jetson into the man he now was. Surely Jetson would be able to do the same.
Jetson realized now he was following in his father’s footsteps. He had made the same mistake as his father. Despite his better judgment, Jetson would have to realize this baby was his and take ownership.
“Look Niki… this child… he honestly ruined my life. I had a perfect wife who was the fuck of a lifetime. I had an amazing home and a dream job. I had everything I ever wanted in my life. When this child walked into my life or rather when I ran into him, all I got was heartbreak and scandal. My wife left me and took most of my assets. I was left with nothing but ridicule. Then when you spoke to the press about our relationship, I lost all credibility in the airline industry. I have nothing, Niki.
But despite all of that, I know, deep down, that I am the father of this child. Like my own father, I will take ownership. I don’t know if I can forgive you for speaking to the press, but I promise to at least be the father that this child needs.”
Nicole smiled at his words. She couldn’t believe it. Maybe the love of her life was still mad at her for going to the press and wouldn’t love her like she wanted, but at least he seemed to love their child and that was enough for her. She just wanted her son to grow up with a loving father that he could look up to.
“What’s his name?”
“Ronson.”
“Ronson? Hmm… I like it.” Jetson smiled at his son. Ronson cooed at him. It would be a long journey, but Jetson was ready to take the first step into fatherhood.
THE END
Sinful Pleasure
1
Sometimes, I just couldn't believe what a lucky woman I was. It's amazing, really, the way some things just fall into place, and how satisfied you can become once that happens. It was early morning, and I mean very, very early, and I found my eyes fluttering gently open, processing the very early morning in a daze and making a light whimpering noise, like the sound of a cat, flexing my spine and getting myself good and relaxed for the day ahead.
I flared my nostrils, and took in the scent of my boyfriend, his sweat and his breath, everything about him creating a pleasant haze about him. Turning me on first thing as the sleep gradually drifted away from my blurred eyes. I yawned, and stretched, the blankets rippling down from my naked torso, and the cool air of the room feeling absolutely glorious on my breasts, my arms, my heaving abdomen, all of which were lightly perspiring.
The contrast in my body heat with the surrounding atmosphere caused a ripple of goosebumps to come erupting all across my skin. I stared down at my arm, savoring the sight of my perfect flesh being mildly interrupted in this way, and then turned back once more to look at Mark, sleeping there still, dead to all thought and sleeping like a damn log at my side.
What a beautiful man, I thought. His dark hair, his penetrating eyes, and that face of his. Lord, what a face... It was like being committed to a male model in a lot of ways, astonishing specimen as he was, getting me so hot for him even this early on in the morning that I thought I would have to tone things down a bit if I wanted to avoid pouncing on him right there on the spot.
His broad chest, partly hidden beneath the sheets, heaved seductively with his breath, his nostrils flaring and his muscles shifting, sliding, and pulling my eyes unavoidably along their slopes. Making my mouth water, and causing me to desire above all else to be nestled away once again in his arms, to be held there forever and to never wriggle free, even if, for some perverse reason, I should ever have such an absurd desire.
I gave a momentary glance at his crotch, then, obscured as it was by the sheets, but enough of a bulge still visible that it really got my feminine fantasizing underway. A shudder ran through my body, and I smacked my lips in an effort to get a hold of myself. As lucky as I was to have this beast of a man in bed with me, I had an awful lot on my mind right then and there, and needed to consider just what I was doing if I didn't want that which I had planned to blow up straight in my face.
I turned back onto my back, folding my hands behind my head, and stared up at the ceiling, thinking, pondering, and getting so lost in my thoughts that I nearly fell back asleep again a few times. I considered, between bouts of near unconsciousness, how the two of us had met. I had, quite literally, run into him at a bar one evening during my senior year of college. Spilling my drink down the front of his clothes and apologizing profusely, before getting caught up in his smoldering gaze and so sucked into the man that trying to escape was completely pointless.
It had been finals week at the time, of the fall semester. It hadn't, perhaps, been the ideal time to go out drinking given that, you know, my girlfriends and I had test crammed into every day that we needed to be prepared for, but by this point we were all just so damn exhausted by the process that a break seemed almost more necessary than deserved.
We sort of thought our brains would up and burst if we didn't take some personal time to unwind ourselves, and we thought going out and getting hammered might just be the precise sort of antidote we needed.
I hadn't at all expected to find myself flirting with a handsome stranger after having just doused him with alcohol, and the fact that I was doing so came as something o
f an extreme surprise, I assure you. But, as the two of us started talking, I found that I was able to communicate extremely well with this man. I felt understood by him, and as though my words were appreciated, which, I have to be honest, wasn't something that a girl could expect to come across just every day.
And plus, this guy was cute... Damn cute... The kind of cute that you only think one can ever only come across in the movies, and that is almost a sin to let slip through your fingers once you happen to stumble onto it.
And perhaps most of all, I didn't expect to find myself going home with a stranger from the bar that evening, slipping into his bed with him, and the two of us making hot, hard, passionate love until dawn the next morning. Nor did I expect that beautiful, excruciating roll in the hay to eventually result in the current, months-long relationship that it now was, the two of us moved in together, sharing a bed and slowly merging our heretofore distinct lives into one.
It's amazing how life pans out that way sometimes, isn't it? One thing leading to another to another, sometimes on a path that's completely random and unpredictable, but in a manner that ends up leading you to a place that's happier than anything you might have ever imagined.
But here's the kicker- when Mark and I first met, I was already seeing someone at the time... Sort of... In a way... But not quite exactly...
God, what a mess this all was, and at present it felt like it was all coming back around to choke me just when I'd thought I was through the thick of all of it. Maybe I should start from the beginning here.
The other man, the one I left for Mark, had been a high school classmate, named Justin, and things between the two of us had been a little bit difficult to define on any certain terms. I guess it's really hard to say whether what the two of us had was a traditional “relationship” relationship, but as far as that goes I don't know if it's really easy to define what that means, period.
But, at any rate, the two of us had started having sex together when we were eighteen, during our senior year, banging with enough frequency to call it something, but without enough of a direct emotional connection to know just what sort of label to slap on it. I'd been a cheerleader at the time, and Justin a football player, which, as far as a sexual relationship is concerned, is a coupling that goes together like peanut butter and jelly.
Justin was a huge dude by comparison to me, hulking and a stud, and I loved being pounded by him, torn into and thrusted inside with vigorous force, pushed beyond my limits every time I leapt into bed with him, and left screaming with pain and pleasure with every lethal, smashing force of his body.
In many ways, it's really difficult to describe just what it was the two of us shared, because even if you want to call it “just sex,” it really seemed like so much more than that at the time. I mean, sure, both of us had had our share of experience up to that point, and it wasn't like we were two clumsy virgins just discovering ourselves for the first time. That wasn't at all the sort of thing that made what the two of us had so spectacular, or so significant in our lives as to warrant more consideration than just a simple “casual fling” label.
The fact of the matter was, the two of us mutually agreed ourselves to have unleashed a hotter, spicier side to our sex lives together than either of us had thought possible. Our trysts began to grow absolutely mind-blowing as they progressed, kinky in every way, each of us pushing ourselves further and further beyond our comfort zones whenever we happened to be in one another's presence.
Quite simply, our sexual chemistry was a devastatingly remarkable thing, and our inner beasts were routinely unleashed whenever the two of us were around one another. Prior to Justin, I hadn't even thought of myself as a remarkably sexual person. I liked sex, sure, but no more so than almost the entirety of the human and animal population.
But when it came to Justin, I loved sex, I craved sex, and I felt so much lust for him, so much damn want, and so much burning in my loins, that I became like a damn firecracker any time he climbed on top of me, or mounted me from behind, or I got on top of him, or any number of other positions, really.
The lengths to which our sweet depravity spanned really didn't know all that much in terms of an end, and it seemed that as our time together spanned on and on, things only got hotter, stickier, sweatier, and far, far more intense. There wasn't much at all that the two of us wouldn't do, really- oral (mutually), anal, sex with toys, humiliation, bondage, role play, handcuffs... He even asked me to peg him a few times, an act which I carried out with a strangely carnal fury, feeling empowered and enlivened with the strap-on harnessed devastatingly around my waist.
Nothing seemed beyond the realm of possibility in the bedroom for the two of us, nothing too depraved or too scandalous, and in fact the more and more we progressed, the more desperate and kinkier we became for one another.
And for a while, at least, our arrangement, nameless as it may have been, seemed like a suitable one. The two of us ended up going to the same university together, even living in the same residence hall, on different sides. So whenever the weekend would roll around, as well on a fair share of our weeknights, I would simply hop on over to his dorm room wearing booty shorts and as scandalous a top as I could squeeze into without getting booted from the hall, and the two of us would lock ourselves away for however many hours, for him to bust me up and leave me moaning like a banshee at the force of his tight poundings.
But then things got just a little bit complicated, I'm afraid to say...
The kicker came when Justin ended up transferring universities, moving across the state, and leaving us uncertain as to what the hell we should do with what was left of this. I mean, we'd more or less gotten dependent upon one another as far as sex was concerned at this point, and even the prospect of having to find and to settle for someone else seemed deplorable in the event that the two of us split up.
Yet, on the same token, the connection that the two of us shared was almost exclusively sexual in nature. I craved being pounded by the man, but to this day I'm not sure whether I can clearly recall a conversation that the two of us ever shared, the gist of our interaction being mostly physical in nature as it was, and the need for words almost entirely superfluous between the two of us as a result.
And so, I guess we kind of had to face the facts, that if the two of us couldn't fuck routinely any longer, there really wasn't much point in keeping whatever the hell this was alive any longer. We decided, then, to tone this down to a friends with benefits thing. We could screw one another whenever we happened to both be in town, but we were under no obligation whatsoever not to see other people and have sex with whomever we damn well pleased.
But then, of course, Mark had come along, and his love had been largely the opposite of what Justin had offered me. I mean, he was still dynamite in the sack, but he didn't thrill me, really, the way that Justin did, pushing me to the brink and then plowing me over the edge... But that really didn't matter all that much, because, you know, I actually had an emotional connection with Mark, and something deeper to relate to him on than just sex alone.
The only thing I regretted was that, in taking on a “traditional” relationship, I was sealing away that part of my life with Justin for good, making it impossible to engage with him, even on a short term, occasional-roll-in-the-hay basis.
I thought I could deal with that, though, and for the longest time I really more or less did just that. Justin was out of sight, and out of mind, and so I was able, for the most part, to pretend that that aspect of my life was as good as gone and buried, and therefore not worth giving another thought. I was with Mark now, happy and carefree as could be, thrilled to have found someone who felt for me the way that he did, not to mention to have someone I loved just as much in return.
And then the time for my high school reunion rolled around...
It was this juncture that became problematic for me, instantly filling me with nostalgia for the good old days of being smashed by Justin, and not totally sure how exactly I could go a
bout dealing with my fondness for days gone past. It was almost certain that I would end up seeing him again if I ended up attending the thing, and at this point I felt for sure that seeing past one another in a sexual context would be tantamount to impossible.
There was just too much heat still lingering between the two of us, too much passion, and I didn't know if I could handle being in his vicinity for that long without my old feelings popping up all over again, my old lusts and cravings, and my insatiable desires for that sweet sexpot of a man.
And that's when I'd had an idea... A very, very, very naughty idea, one which titillated me nearly as much as it frightened me, and which left me so on edge with desire that I couldn't resist waking up my boyfriend in the most pleasant of ways.
Slowly, I reached over to him in bed, putting my hand on his thigh, and beginning to caress him. My fingers glided across his pelvis, massaging him gently, and pushed up against the bulge in his boxer shorts, the warmth feeling beautiful, and the slight growth and pulsing at my touch turning me on like you wouldn't believe. I stroked him, very slightly, not wanting to tug him abruptly into consciousness.
He began to moan, blinking hard in confusion, looking around stupidly as he gained his bearings, but then a sweet, lustful smile spreading wide a cross his lips.