Ricardo and Juliana

"You're welcome, I got it from Mom, I was glad to be able to help."

Ricardo then, his focus entirely on me, said, "I would have loved for you and your son to spend the night as our guests, but the storm has strengthened and sped up. It is dangerous. The house will be fine, it was designed for such storms, but the infrastructure will not. I expect all but the main roads will be impassable for several days. You would be best back at the resort."

His calmness, his decisiveness, his charm, god this man turned me on.

After giving various people various directions at machine gun speed Juliana and Ricardo walked us to our car. Our good-night kisses were steamy.

* * * * *

Although droves of people were leaving the party the roads were deserted; whatever was coming was big. Imagining sharing a bed with Ricardo, wanting the closeness of a human body, I slid over and nestled my body against Randall. Understanding, he draped an arm over me. I closed my eyes.

Despite Ricardo's masterful fuck, his and Juliana's kisses had me afire. I was aroused, getting more so as I recycled the day's events in my mind. Ricardo and I on the balcony, Ricardo and Juliana on the beach. Father and daughter, maybe the sexiest couple I'd ever known and Randall, like I, had been turned on by it. He and I were alone, sharing a suite, and, after Juliana and Ricardo I was thinking about my handsome son in ways I never had before. I snuggled against his firm body, wondered, was he having the same thoughts?

Then I heard him laugh.

The "Drought" sign at the resort's entrance had been replaced with one that said "Severe Drought."

* * * * *

Randall sat on the couch. I picked up the card that had been left on the suite's coffee table, curled my body into his and, as he folded his arms over my shoulders, his palms resting on my stomach, I read aloud the resort's Severe Drought Rules.

When I was done I said, "I guess we don't need to worry about this now."

"Mom, you heard Juliana, the storm could still turn, head back out to sea. We're still in a severe drought, we gotta live by the rules."

I turned my head and looked into his eyes, touched his lips.

"What are you suggesting?"

"I'm sure we both need a shower, best we share."

"We're going to do this, aren't we?"

* * * * *

Oddly, I felt self-conscious about undressing before him -- I'd get over that -- and did so in my room, leaving my door open. He knocked anyway.

"Hey Mom, may I come in?"

"Yes."

He was naked. On the beach I'd tried to avoid looking at him, and while it still felt strange to do so, now I did. Juliana was right, he was beautiful. While he'd added muscle, his body retained the sleek limber build of the cornerback he'd played two seasons ago.

I walked to him, got on my toes -- his height came from his father - kissed his lips, just a peck, and he said, "Where would like to shower, my bathroom or yours?"

"I'd prefer mine, do you mind?"

"Not at all, it's perfect."

Maybe he, like I, had qualms about what was about to happen, but I didn't detect them. I took comfort in his certainty.

Opening the shower's glass door, admiring the understated beauty of its earth-toned tiles, I adjusted the water -- I'd learned exactly how I liked it -- and steam soon filled the room. I stepped in, he followed, wrapping his arms around my waist from behind. His body was firm and his erection -- warm and big, hard and soft -- was pressed to my back. It felt good. Had part of me always wanted this, had it just taken Juliana and Ricardo for me to understand?

The water pouring through my light brown hair I turned, just my head, kissed his lips, a peck, then turned my body into his. His happy eyes followed the water coursing in ever changing rivulets over my face and shoulders, my breasts and torso, my sex and legs.

I liked his eyes on me.

I picked up the bar of soap, held it to a breast, pressed it on nipple, fat, hard, and erect, pushed it into my breast, watched it rebound back into position.

I handed him the soap. "Why don't you try?"

Working up a good lather between his palms, he ran his soapy slick hands in circles on my breasts, moved inward to focus on my hard nipples.

My son has talented hands and I moaned, took half a step towards him, flattening my breasts on his chest, then reached for his head, pulled him to me. For the first time I kissed him hard and deep with a passion and longing that surged through me like an indefatigable tide. The head of his erection poked into my belly; I pressed by sex to his powerful thigh.

His tongue invaded my mouth and I stroked, pushed mine against it, stroked it, thrust my tongue into his mouth. Our tongues swirled on each other; his hands went to my butt, I rocked my sex on his thigh.

When the kiss ended, his voice needy, he said, "Mom, turn around." When I did he kissed my neck, grabbed the soap, lathered my breasts, slid a hand across my flat belly and, for the first time, touched my sex, my labia, pussy lips, clit. When I covered his hand with mine he slid his free hand up my chest, thumbed my nipples, and said, "Mom, you have amazing breasts. I want to fuck your tits."

Loving the idea I turned around, cupped my breasts, held them up for his inspection, and said, "You sure, you don't think they're starting to droop? They're natural, you know."

He slid his hands under them, kneaded them, moved them this way and that, took my nipples between thumb and forefinger, gave them a hard pinch, said, "No Mom, they're perfect."

Cooing, my hands went behind his head and brought him forward. He sucked a long hard nipple into his mouth, played with it with his tongue, opened his mouth, swallowing as much breast as he could, pulled back, swirled his tongue on my distended areola, gave the other breast the same treatment, let it slip from his mouth with a gentle plop, then brought his mouth to mine. We kissed with hunger and need.

I reached for his penis, it was big and hard and hot, and said, "It's been a long time since I've held this."

His hands on my breasts he said, "It's been a long time since I played with these."

I said, "You were always an eager breast feeder," dropped to my knees, pressed my breasts together, enveloping his cock in a canyon of tit-flesh, looked up and said, "Randall, fuck my tits."

Tentatively at first, more quickly as we found our rhythm and pace, he did. He rocked his hips into me and I rolled and squeezed my tits on him.

I pinched my nipples with my thumb and index finger.

He said, "God that's hot."

He was soon fucking my tits with a long steady motion and as his cock-head poked out the top, then disappeared into mammary heaven I wondered, could I? Swiping my tongue down, I swabbed his cock-head each time it appeared. As I did his shaft pulsed and his balls, dragging up and down my stomach, quivered.

Deciding he'd like to see -- it was pretty fricking hot -- I dropped my head back, giving him an unimpeded view of his cock sawing in and out of his mother's breasts, licked my full lips, and rotated my hands so I could press my pinkies to his shaft as it slid from between my tits.

"Come on me, come on your mother's fat tits."

Randall snorted, braced his hands on the shower walls, said, "Oh god Mom, I can't believe it, it's..., it's..., it's...," and rutting, groaning louder and louder, pushed into me, straightened my spine, and as, "Oh, oh, oh, unnnnnhhhhhhhhhhh," erupted from his mouth, cum geysered from his cock, striking my chin and splattering over my breasts.

I was eager for a taste, but was to slow. The shower washed it away.

But I was certain there'd be other opportunities.

And although my son was young and a stud I wanted more. I stuffed his dick in my mouth. Never soft, soon it was a steel rod.

I stood, hugged him, kissed him. His arms were strong, his chest hard, his tongue knowing, and while apprehension had lingered when we'd started, a peace and tranquillity had descended over me. I loved his kisses, warm and soft, powerful and strong. I loved his firm flesh, his flowing contours. My sex in flames I sank a finger into my slit, thumbed my clit. His hand replaced mine, a finger moving in and out of me, an unholy warmth suffusing my body. A few hours ago I'd been expertly fucked by a talented older man, now I would be by a talented younger one. On this day Juliana had enjoyed both her father's experienced skilled love-making and what I was sure was my son's more vigorous approach. Now I would too.

"Randall Toro, fuck me, hard and long."

Saying, "Yes mother," hands on my hips he turned me around. I reached between my legs, placed him on my sex, planted my forearms on the shower wall, said "Fuck me hard."

He slammed his cock into me, jolting my bones.

"Oh yes, oh... oh... oh... oh, yes fuck me."

I squeezed my pussy and his hands moved up my body to my breasts, caressed their outer curves, the valley between them, drew circles on my areolas, rubbed, twisted, and pulled my aching distended nipples.

"Ohhhh Randall yeah, fuucccckkkkkkkkkkk, don't stop."

I was slick with fuck juice, burning white hot, and my son was fucking me and I loved the way he fucked me and I thought about Ricardo and Juliana and wondered if they were fucking just like Randall and I were fucking and it was so hot and I started babbling in a language of my own creation and Randall half-said half-grunted, "I'M... FUCKING... CUMMING," and my pussy clamped on him and shuddering he filled me with hot cum, and my clit grew until it was my whole body and his cock was perfect and I came and I whelped and wailed and I saw a zillion colors and the building shook and I didn't know if it was an earthquake or the storm or me and I didn't care for I was coming and it was wonderful.

I am no innocent. I know a good fuck, I know a great fuck. This was better. Earlier that evening Ricardo had made delicious love to me with the knowing sensitive experienced patience of an older man. Now Randall had done so with the raw uncontrollable power of youth. And, as we crawled into bed and I snuggled my body next to his and thought about Juliana and her lips on my mouth and wondered, had she known this would happen?

* * * * *

Lightning lit up the room, thunder shook our bed, and my son, as was I, startled from sleep said, "Ricardo and Juliana were right, the storm is here. It sounds bad."

"I hope they're okay."

"Those two? They know how to take care of themselves."

The lights flickered, went dark. The power had gone out.

My son walked to the window; I watched his butt; he had a nice butt.

"At least the drought is over. I don't need to feel bad."

"Why's that?"

"That shower we took together to save water. We were in there awhile. I don't think we saved any water."

I laughed, said, "No, we didn't. You think the storm is karma for our bad behavior?"

My son said, "This measly thing doesn't begin to match our fireworks," and then, as the lights came back on, added, "They must have a heck of a generator."

"As you said, Ricardo and Juliana know how to take care of things. Do you think we'll see them again?"

Getting back in bed he said, "I have no doubt of it," and our tongues came together. I ran my hands on his chest, felt his penis grow hard and hot on my leg.

We made our own thunder and lightning.

* * * * *

Opening my eyes the next morning to a flashing alarm clock, I rolled over, looked out the window, saw sunlight. The storm had passed.

Not wanting to wake Randall, I got out of bed and carried my cell phone and tablet to the living room, curled up naked on the couch. Neither worked, the internet was down.

I leaned forward to place them on the coffee table, my heavy breasts swaying with the motion, and saw a Davenport Group envelope that had been slipped under the door. It was a memorandum from John Davenport assuring everyone that all was under control, that he'd been told normal airline service would resume soon, and that in light of the storm the day's events were cancelled, but the evening's awards banquet was still on.

My son awoke to the sensation of his mother's mouth on his cock.

* * * * *

Several hours later, clothed and dressed in shorts and tee-shirts, we made our way to the lobby. When she saw us the concierge notified Carlos, whose secretary ushered us into his overcrowded office.

Carlos, simultaneously talking on a satellite phone and to the people in his office, motioned us forward, where a gentleman kindly offered me his chair. After several minutes Carlos placed the phone down and, as translated by the man whose chair I'd taken, said, "Kara, Randall, you are uninjured, good. I told Ricardo we checked, made sure your car was in the parking lot, that you made it back safely. I will let him know you are fine. He and Ms. Juliana asked me to let you know they are fine also. They are leading relief activities in the hills."

Feeling a tad ignoble, while Carlos, Ricardo, and Juliana had been working I'd been screwing my son senseless, I asked how we could help. Carlos said the city had improvised relief stations, there was one not to far away, near the university, where there were many English speakers, perhaps we could help there.

It was an anarchic mess. Someone had to take charge and by the end of the day I had it running smoothly, helped along by the blatant crush several women there developed on my hunky son and perhaps by a few young men trying real hard to impress the MILF.

* * * * *

I'd brought something red and a little sexy for the awards banquet, but the storm had rendered it inappropriate, so after my son, handsome in blue suit and red tie, fastened the buttons that ran up the back of a loose fitting knee-length black dress, I turned and asked what he thought. He cocked his head and said, "They'll be some disappointed leches, but you nailed it."

I stood on my toes, kissed him, then both our phones busted out binging.

"It appears service has been restored."

* * * * *

Randall, perched on the edge of the bed while I sat at the vanity applying lip-stick, said, "I just got a text from Shae and Jasmyn. Their flight was diverted to another airport. Our flight will resume tomorrow. The plan is to fly them here late tonight in a prop plane so they'll be available."

It was good news, although I can't say I was happy about leaving without seeing Ricardo.

* * * * *

It turned out I needn't have worried about my dress, I'd just entered inappropriate-land. I expected my fellow employees to be rowdy -- for most of them it was the final night of an extended fraternity party - but manageable, sort of "need a stern scolding from Mom" rowdy. But having spent the day drinking in the resort's lounge they were "call out the police dogs" rowdy. If ever there was a time I was glad to have my son at my side it was tonight. There were more than a few inappropriate comments and more than a few hands that forgot their place, but the words tailed off and the hands retreated when their owners saw my companion.

I was working my way through the crowd when I noted a woman heading in our direction. I'd never met Gema Parisi, John Davenport's new twenty-plus year younger wife, but recognized her from pictures I'd seen.

They did not do her justice. Although she'd been attractive in the pictures, in person she was beautiful, but not the "big blonde hair, heavy make-up, outrageous curves, and manufactured breasts beautiful" associated with the trophy wife I'd heard guys in the office call her. Instead her beauty was understated. Her Italian birth showed in her olive skin and brown hair that hung loose a few inches past her shoulders. She wore almost no make-up on her long face, had a strong jaw, deep brown eyes that burned with intelligence, and an engaging smile. If her nose was perhaps a bit too small and mouth perhaps a bit too large, well sometimes to criticize is just to be catty. This woman was lovely. She was, I was also happy to see, dressed in black and, except for a tasteful wedding ring -- modest in light of her husband's wealth -- bling fee.

Stopping in front of us she said, "Kara, I want to introduce myself, I'm Gema Parisi, John Davenport's wife. He pointed you out to me."

"I recognized you. This is my son Randall."

She turned, appraised but unlike most woman did not gawk at my son, took his outstretched hand in hers, and said, "Its good to meet you Randall, I hear you're quite the athlete. I wanted you both to know we heard from Ricardo. He and Juliana are fine, but knee deep in relief efforts They send their regrets."

Assuming she'd seen us at Ricardo's last night and wondering why I hadn't noticed them I said, "Were you and John at the party?"

"No, unfortunately John's work kept him and I from going. We did have lunch with them our first day here. Juliana works in our lab on a fellowship, we're hoping when she's finished she'll accept a full time position. That's how we met Ricardo."

Randall said, "Juliana talked about the lab's work, said there is a shortage of human organs and you are finding ways to make pig organs suitable for transplants into people. It sounded fascinating."

"We're using CRISPR to eliminate the retrovirus genes from pig organs that cause the human body to reject transplants. We've had some success, but I see my husband is waving for us to join him, that's enough shop talk. Kara, as one of the night's honorees you and Randall will be sitting at the head table."

Mr. Davenport, recalling my son, introduced him to the rest of the group and I felt a mother's pride as he effortlessly blended in what had to be for him (it was for me) boring company talk until, on Mr. Davenport's signal, we took our seats. The tablecloth of our large round table hung to the floor and because we were situated in the front of the room no one was sitting behind us, so when I felt my son's hand on my knee I let my legs drift apart and when his finger ran up my thigh I enjoyed the goose bumps erupting on my skin. Leaning into him I said, "Feel's nice."

Unfortunately the hand retreated when Mr. Davenport stood, rapped his water glass with a spoon, did it again, harder this time, then a third time before getting everyone's attention, and, after some introductory remarks, said, "Before dinner is served, we've worked with our consultants to produce a film about the company and its products intended for marketing and public relations. Tonight will be the first public showing. This is a rough version, a first draft if you will, about twenty minutes long. It will give you an idea of what we're trying to accomplish. After you mull it over please forward your thoughts: what we did wrong, what we did right, what we left out, suggestions for improving it."

What insights he expected from this room of drunks escaped me, but he was the boss.

He sat down, the lights went out, and on the screen appeared a fresh-faced young woman who, as such spokeswomen tend to be, was both pretty and asexual, hair and make-up perfect, outfit becoming and professional. Guys would pay attention to her, women would think she was sweet.

She said, "Today we are going on a journey."

A voice from the back of the room: "You can go on a journey with me anytime baby."

I glanced at Mr. Davenport. Grimacing, he looked to his wife, who nodded her head "no." She understood that as drunk as this crowd there was nothing he could do to control them and so no point in trying. The boss should never appear powerless.

The woman opened a door and walked into a laboratory featuring an array of white-coated, happy, assiduously working people: half-women, half-men, black, white, Hispanic, Asian, all young and attractive in the same clean-cut way as the hostess.

I'd been in our labs, knew our personnel. This wasn't our lab, these weren't our people.