The Mbayo Clinic Ch 02

Audrey and I didn't discuss in detail what happened at the Mbayo Clinic. We were both still in some sort of blissful stupor as we walked out, our faces wet with tears and our hands clinging to one another.

In the car, we compared each other's prescriptions. Hers was also in a similar, but larger box, made of some sort of wicker. Inside were several more components, including a salve, different herbs, several vials of the same white liquid I had been given and a large cylinder possibly made of ivory, wrapped in silk. As I removed the cylinder, its purpose became obvious.

It was a big fucking dildo. Complete with veins and a rolled back foreskin, carved carefully into it's polished, gleaming surface. I raised an eyebrow and pointed it at her. We both began to laugh. It felt good.

Audrey smiled. She looked so relaxed, sitting there in the passenger seat, her face pink with either embarrassment, excitement, or the flush of whatever Mbayo had done to her in the examination room. "I know." she said. "I asked if they had something smaller. Apparently, this one is the traditional Mbayo fuckstick. Been around for generations."

"Well... be careful, I guess. And don't lose it. We wouldn't want the ghosts of a thousand fertility gods cursing doom down upon us, would we?" We both laughed again and headed home.

The rest of the evening went normally. As she got ready for bed, she looked at me with a very serious eye. "You are okay with what we're doing? With how the exam went?"

I scratched my chin. "Believe it or not, I think I really am. I was skeptical. Then freaked out. Nervous. Worried about you. And then... well, the exam was... intense. Now I just feel relaxed."

She leaned down, her breath fresh from toothpaste and kissed me. It lingered for a bit and then grew more passionate, her tongue dancing against mine. She broke off and said, "I hope you know that I want you to do whatever they asked of you. Even if it was... sexual. Adele really helped me let go of some things I'd been carrying around. Resentments. Pain. She helped me release all of that."

I remembered the Mbayo women had helped me release. I wondered if Audrey's experience had been similar. That speculation combined with the kiss she'd just given me, began to make me stiffen. I carefully pushed Audrey away, gently. "What they told me was to keep my dirty hands off of you for the next two weeks." I gazed down her body, clad in an open silk thigh-high robe with a black bra and boyshorts visible beneath. "And I think that's already going to be difficult."

Audrey bit her lip in that sexy way I'd admired since the night we'd met. "Then I'm just going to have to make sure you're good boy, aren't I?" She kissed my chin softly, then my neck while pressing her firm stomach against the hardness growing in my boxer briefs. "Because I don't want to be a bad influence. A dirty temptation. So. You'll. Just. Have. To. Wait."

She giggled at me and then sauntered back towards the master bathroom. I sighed, looked down at my cock and resigned myself to the first of many nights of beating off to whatever I could find on the internet.

The next morning Audrey and I opened our boxes and prepared our ritual. The batungo root was as bitter as Grace Mbayo had promised it would be, but it was bearable. As I chewed it into a paste, I felt it's numbing effect on my mouth and a warmth traveling though my sinuses. Audrey made a face. "Is it gross?"

I tried to smile, "Yum" I said without any real meaning behind it. "How's yours?"

She shrugged. "The herbs don't bother me much. The salve is actually kind of nice. I have no idea what it's made of, but it smells nice and it leaves my skin really smooth and tingly. Especially down there." She looked at it appraisingly. "I might have to get some for myself."

"It does smell nice. God only knows what it's made of. Or how much it costs. Speaking of which, I don't want to know how much this is costing us, do I?"

Audrey shook her head no. I decided not to think about how bad that might be. "When do you have to go crazy with the elephant dildo?"

Audrey shrugged. "It's up to me. Whenever I feel like I need it."

I lifted my vial and she lifted one of hers. "Bottoms up?"

I took a swig of the liquid, which had a sweet and somewhat familiar milky taste. It definitely helped clean my mouth of the bitterness of the root. Audrey's dose was larger, closer to a half glass of milk. She finished it with a few more chugs.

"I wonder why you get so much more than me? It looks like the same stuff, doesn't it?"

Audrey nodded. "It is. It's... surprisingly good." I shrugged. "You don't know what it is, do you?"

I felt dumb. I should know what it is. But I couldn't place it. "Goat milk?"

Audrey smiled. "Mbayo milk. As in Adele's. From her breasts."

Thunderstruck, I finally got it. My mind remembered the warmth filling my mouth as I sucked from Adele's breast. Remembered her daughter Grace working my cock until spurts of come erupted from me in fountains.

Audrey giggled.

"What?"

She poked my stiff cock with a dainty index finger. "Looks like it's working."

"Wow. I guess it is." I said. But inside my mind was trying to work this out. Why was Adele producing milk? Was that how her method was supposed to work? Some cultural mumbo jumbo? Breast milk feeds babies. That's it. It doesn't make you fertile. Or is she different somehow?

Audrey poked my dick again, holding it down until it popped back up. "Too bad you've got to go to work. Remember: two weeks. Then you get go crazy with that thing." Audrey disappeared into her walk-in closet.

The first few days were like that. We followed our routine, joked around with one another about it. We laughed to hide our subconscious fears of looking like fools. By mid-week, I noticed that the routine was having the effect that both Adele and Grace had warned me about.

To put it bluntly, I was a walking hard on. Literally. I began waking up early to jack off while I looked at my sleeping wife. I snuck out at lunch and beat off in my car in the back corner of the parking garage. I stayed up late, watching all the porn I could take, then stroking myself until gushing eruptions of sticky cum splatter everywhere.

And boy, did I come. Thick ropes of abundant jism burst forth, in greater and greater quantity, every time. I was unable to focus on work, my mind trailing off into sordid scenarios with any female nearby.

Maybe I'm crazy, but I enjoyed it. There was a certain freeness that came with this drug-induced virility. I felt women responding to me differently, approaching me with a degree of caution they hadn't before. I wasn't doing anything different, but they could sense something dangerous about me. Maybe it was the look behind my eyes, that desire to consume them. Or maybe this crazy root and milk regimen was amplifying my pheromones somehow.

I took samples from the copious amounts of semen I was generating several times a day behind closed doors, as well as samples of my saliva and sweat. Once a scientist, always a scientist, I guess. I put them all in my storage freezer in my office.

Coming home was the worst. Because whatever was happening to me, was happening to Audrey, but in a different way. As I grew more aggressive and focused on fucking, she became more coy and teasing. There was a sultriness and a coltish tease behind every word she spoke to me now. A wiggle in her hips that suggested that she wanted me to bend her over and fuck her senseless in every not-so-innocent movement she made.

The tension was powerful. And it was growing. By the end of the first week, it was near painful to bear. I would disappear in my office after an hour in her presence, stroking my thick cock for some kind of release, my balls boiling with the heat of my need. I was looking at hardcore interracial porn on my computer, my pants around my ankles as I sat in my office chair. Then I caught her watching me from behind the barely cracked door, her hand working furiously in her panties as she spied on me feeding my begging monster with the stimulation it craved.

I moaned at the thought of her seeing me like this, so desperate with the need to ejaculate. I felt degraded and turned on at the same time. She apparently felt the same. She licked her lips and slid her hand into her robe to play with her breasts. Not a word was spoken. I felt the need to put on a show. Just for her.

I stroked my fat dick, noting distractedly that it was bigger than it had ever been, seeming to grow concurrently with my insistent needs. I pumped it hard for Audrey. Watching her eyes feast on its expanding length and girth. Then I let go of it, let it tremble and bob, suspended over my stomach, before it began to erupt.

This time, the cum came pouring out like an opened valve, soaking my chest with the first long, sustained pulse. I heard her gasp. Then it jerked again of its own accord, shooting even more in a higher arc. I felt a hot splash on the side of my face, cum dripping down my chin and onto my shoulder. It kept coming out of me, coating me with its hot, slimy mess.

I reached for a towel and when I looked back she was gone.

It was ridiculous how much I wanted her. That weekend, I worked in the yard so that I wouldn't be trapped inside with her. She came out by the pool in a new bikini and began to cover her body with oil. She lay there, like the goddess she had worked herself to become, simply oozing with raw sexual energy. It was impossible to imagine, but her breasts seemed fuller. Even as she lay on her back, rubbing coconut oil into them, they looked an actual cup size larger than they were a week ago. I myself felt like I had been losing fat, like my metabolism was in overdrive, along with my raging libido.

Whatever Adele Mbayo had done to us... I liked it. But not being able to fuck Audrey was maddening. After a certain point, the pornography wasn't enough to satisfy me. I wanted Audrey. I tried to concentrate on what Grace had told me. To focus on why I was doing this. That my cock was meant to put life inside her. But the silly two week abstinence would be my undoing. I could tell Audrey was feeling the same way.

I went in the house, to put a layer of glass at least between my rampant cock and the oily, tanned figure of my untouchable wife. She slid her hand along her taut belly, her little fingers sneaking lower and lower, edging her bikini bottoms aside as her manicured nails slipped under the waistband and toward her exquisite pussy.

This is why the porn was satisfying me anymore. She was what I needed. Even if I was only watching her from afar, it was Audrey that I needed. It was always her. I pulled my cock out and began to stroke, knowing somehow that she knew I was here, watching. She began to shake and arch her back, her hand fully embedded in her crotch, her glistening body convulsing with orgasm. I felt come running over my fist in cupfuls, now leaving a white trail as it slid down the glass door. I shuddered.

This was going to be a long week.

During that second half of the fourteen-day waiting period, thoughts of Audrey consumed me. I took a pair of her panties to work with me. I was becoming like some sort of dog, driven mad by his bitch in heat. Her smell was enough to get me through the day.

On the drive home each day, I lost myself in memories of our best fucking sessions over the years. The time we'd fucked in an empty movie theater on a Tuesday night showing of something terrible. The time we'd fucked at her parent's cabin on the lake. Hawaii. California. Colorado. Every hotel. Every bedroom. Our old kitchen. Our first apartment. Each place became a religious monument to me, a place to worship. A place we'd made holy with sex.

On the last day before we were due back at the Mbayo clinic, I looked up, lost in memory and driving on auto-pilot I realized that I'd driven myself to a nightclub not far from my office downtown, but definitely not on my way home. It had changed names several times since the last time I'd been inside and now was apparently closed for good.

I parked the car in front. This was the place. The only one that mattered.

-------------------

The Audrey I'd met ten years earlier bore little resemblance to the woman I was living with a few weeks ago. Sure, most married people feel that way. But the further we drifted apart, the further my mind went back to the past.

We met at this club. Which is particularly funny, because neither of us were really "club people." Looking back at it now, it was a phase. She'd just ended an engagement two months earlier. I'd just moved out of an apartment I shared with my previous girlfriend. Neither of us were looking for commitment. In fact, both of us were looking for the sort of freewheeling single lifestyle we imagined we'd been missing out on.

But when I saw her there, dancing with a girlfriend under the flashing lights to some remixed version of a Depeche Mode nugget I remembered from college, I was captivated. Her hair swung back and forth as her hips shimmied in tight leather pants. Her white teeth gleamed in the black lights as she laughed at something her friend said, before taking a sip from a vodka tonic. She politely shooed away potential suitors, then made an exaggerated expression of delight as another retro song boomed out of the PA. Remixes and mashups were the rage then. This was a version of some old Cure song with some rapper mixed on top of it.

She practically threw her drink down and made her way back to the dance floor, wiping sweaty blonde bangs from her cheeks as she went. Her breasts swayed absolutely mesmerizingly beneath a sheer top that showed her soft, smooth stomach when she held her arms over her head.

I was paralyzed. I wanted to be with her, but I was cautious enough not to embarrass myself by intruding on her moment. Luckily for me, my friend noticed my state of rapture and interrupted. "I KNOW HER FRIENDS" he yelled into my ear. Turning to him, I smiled.

Less than thirty minutes later six of us were clustered in a round booth in the back of the place. She was making a good show of being standoffish, but I got the sense she liked me. She just didn't like that I knew it. So I kept the conversation neutral, focusing on music. Finding openings in her armor. Making her laugh, whenever possible.

When she returned from a bathroom visit, I could tell she had reapplied her lipstick and cleaned up her smoky eye makeup.

I leaned in, even though the music wasn't still loud enough to make that necessary. "Your makeup looks amazing. Did you touch it up for my benefit or do you just like to look fucking perfect all the time?"

She gave me a look. I knew that she was deciding if I was an asshole or if I was trying to get a rise out of her or what. She smiled then. Then she leaned in towards me. "Thanks? I guess?" We both laughed nervously. The conversation around us was apparently involving to everyone else at the table, but the heavy thud of the music and the sexual tension between us shut out everything else.

We pretended to listen to the others, but our eyes invariably returned to one another. At one point, I found her hand on the booth beside me. I took it in my own, gently. She gave me another questioning look and shifted closer to me on the seat, still holding my hand, gently running a soft finger across my palm.

Abruptly, she loaned over and spoke into my ear again. "I have a rule that you should know about."

I nodded. "Okay. Tell me."

Her fingers were now sliding up and back down my own outstretched digits, both slightly damp with perspiration. She continued, "I don't make out with guys in bars. It's a rule."

Ruefully, I nodded again. "That's probably a good rule." I gazed away for a moment and then added, "But I still don't have to like it." She smiled. I leaned in again, "I don't think you like that rule right now either."

Her fingers squeezed mine. I tried not to notice that her neck and cleavage were shimmering with a light dust of glitter. "I know what you think." She leaned in even closer to me, filling my nose with the intoxicating smell of her perfume, mixed with alcohol, cigarettes and sweat. "You think you're going to talk me into fucking you tonight." She paused, breathing deep. "I have a rule about that too. Sorry."

It wasn't a question. It was just sitting there. It could be a prelude. Or it could be her set up to destroy me. The words were ringing in my ears as she coolly sipped another vodka tonic. My mind reeled with options. I went for it and moved in even closer than she had, the stubble on my face brushing past her soft, apple-like cheek. "The only question is whether you're going to follow your rules or let yourself go." I paused for a second, breathing her in. This might be the last time I was ever this close to her and I wanted to remember it. "You should forget about rules. Just for tonight."

She roll as I pulled away. Finding something else to busy herself with. I saw her fingers tremble as she lit a cigarette. We all smoked back then. I brushed her sweaty hair back off her shoulder and gave it my last, best shot—all the while praying that I wasn't totally blowing this. "When you've made a decision, come find me at the bar."

It was a long, painful walk away from the table. I forced myself not to look back. I found a barstool that was out of sight, ordered a beer. Tried to gaze far away, philosophically. Did anything that would help me not look like my heart was beating its way through my chest.

And then she was there, holding her hand out to me. I took it and it was as if it was back where it belonged. She nodded her head toward the door. I slapped a five dollar bill on the bar and we went outside. I found my voice, "we can take a cab, if you want"

She grabbed my face in her hands and opened her mouth to mine. I stumbled back against the outside wall, my arms wrapping themselves around her. Her body was so soft, so warm and completely open to me. I forced myself not to run my hands up to her inviting tits or over her perfect bubble ass. Instead they made their way to her neck, her hair and eventually her face. She broke the kiss and leaned against me, almost my own height in tall, sexy heels. "See? I'm not breaking my rule anymore."

"What?"

She bit her lip. "I'm not making out with you in a bar. We're outside."

"And the other rule?"

She shrugged. I pulled her back into me, crushing her against my body and taking possession of her with my kiss.

At that exact moment, we both knew it. What was pulling us together was incredible. Powerful. To deny it to ourselves would hurt. My cock was rock hard in my jeans and I knew she could feel it pressing into her thigh and throbbing with every beat of my overworked heart. Then in a very clear voice, she said the single greatest sentence I've ever heard spoken.

"I'm going to make you come so hard that you'll forget everything you knew before me."

That night, she did. We pawed at each other during the cab ride. I gave directions as I felt her unzip my pants and run a finger in little circles, smearing precum over the sensitive head of my cock. Her tongue licking up the back of my neck to my ears, giggling as my body shuddered in overstimulation.

The rules were simple. We were going to fuck. We were good at it. We wanted to prove it to each other. This was going to be intense. And then it would be over.

As the cab made its way to my apartment, stopping several times to get better directions from my distracted mind, I pulled her onto my lap. I let my cock rest against the tight, straining leather crotch of her low riding pants. It was so warm it almost felt like skin and she bucked against me, dry humping my exposed member. Our mouths locked together, not seeming to need air as I slid my hand up her sheer top, delicately teasing her prominent nipples through a lacy black bra. Her fingers closed over my hand, causing me to squeeze harder. She bit her lip and whimpered. My other hand slid down the back of her pants, feeling miles of soft exposed skin bisected by a tiny thong ribbon. I pushed it aside, letting my finger sink as low as I could stretch my arm. Gliding over sweaty skin until I passed over her clenching asshole and felt the bottom of her impossibly wet and open pussy.