The Mother Beforehand

  Table of Contents

  The Mother Beforehand

  Copyright

  The Mother Beforehand

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Want to know what happens next?

  The Mother Beforehand

  Aubrey Parker

  Copyright © 2017 by Aubrey Parker. All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, businesses, events, or locales is purely coincidental.

  Reproduction in whole or part of this publication without express written consent is strictly prohibited.

  The author greatly appreciates you taking the time to read this work. Please consider leaving a review wherever you bought the book, or telling your friends about it, to help spread the word.

  Thank you for supporting Aubrey Parker

  CHAPTER ONE

  October 7, 2034 — Voyos Island

  Nicole looked into Clive’s eyes and said, “Tell me how you want it.”

  “Lick it. From the underside. Long strokes.”

  Nicole licked.

  “Now look up at me when you do it.”

  Nicole rolled her eyes up, tongue still moving. Her dark brown hair was cut into bangs, so the rest could hang in her face without blocking her vision. She wasn’t sold on the bangs, but Clive seemed to like them. And he loved how they allowed her big blue eyes to stay on him while she did her business.

  “Are you getting hot?”

  “No.” She moved her tongue around the shaft, now firming and digging into the ridges around the edge. Liquid ran from the tip, drizzling down the sides. That was how it was with popsicles. If you played around with them too much rather than sucking up and down their length with your lips, they made a mess all over your hand — a phenomenon Nicole was intimately familiar with. “It’s actually making me kind of cold.”

  They were sitting on the main pool deck, Nicole in a white two-piece that managed to make her relatively pale skin look tan. The suit was much less revealing than it could have been. At most of the Voyos pools, everyone was topless or entirely nude. But this pool was nearest the bar and served the best drinks, and it was the unofficial “temptation” area.

  Although never explicitly stated, convention dictated that bathers dressed modestly despite the fact that the compound, run by the Wellness Spa amid heavy bribes to keep the law away, had been built to indulge carnal pleasures. It was a mild form of masochism — sitting clothed in the middle of a sex paradise, restricted from overt displays of hedonistic affection. Supposedly, the denial of sexual pleasure was a sure way to heighten it. And for Nicole — no stranger to selling her body in the most delightful, if technically illegal, ways — it worked.

  “Shame. Perhaps you could find somewhere warmer to put it.” Clive’s voice, owing to his elegant English accent, sounded well-behaved, but the tent in his trunks gave him away. Nicole wanted to reach into those trunks and feel his hot cock, but this was the modesty pool, and denial was the game.

  “Like laying it in the sun?” Nicole batted her lashes.

  “Or perhaps you could put it into a hot, tight space.”

  “Good idea.” Nicole rolled to her side, laid the popsicle on her towel-draped lawn chair, and slowly fell back so that she was sitting on it.

  Clive’s cheeks puffed with laughter.

  Nicole met his eyes, affecting innocence.

  “Okay,” she said, her affect breaking, voice returning to something less schoolgirlish. Nicole had a sexy husk to her voice and had to pitch it near falsetto to sound as naïve as her character. “I have to bail on my ill-planned joke. This is actually really cold.”

  She rolled to her side, fished out the Rocket Pop, and tossed it onto the table. Within 30 seconds, an attendant walked over, picked up the melting treat, and wiped the table clean.

  “That’s going to leave a stain all over your suit.” Clive snickered.

  “It’s the spa’s suit.”

  “I’d like to stain that suit.”

  Back to naïve schoolgirl: “Hush. I’m not that kind of girl.”

  Nicole reached across him for her sunblock and accidentally brushed his rod on the way. Clive grunted.

  She pulled the sunblock back and squeezed it into her palm.Since the environmental upheaval, the sun was intense even in the early morning hours. But Nicole, like all of Voyos’s escorts and their families, had received permanent UV treatment. The lotion was simply kindling to his fire.

  Nicole rubbed it on her arms, shoulders, flat stomach, and up under and around her fabric-covered breasts. After covering everything visible, she told Clive to turn around, then fiddled with her top to make sure she’d gotten everything that didn’t, precisely speaking, need getting.

  Clive nodded to get her attention.

  His cock, under his trunks, seemed to pulse with his heartbeat.

  “How about …” He ticked his head toward his crotch. “You know.”

  Nicole smiled. Clive had paid a large sum to hire her for the weekend, but his polite manner in asking for her favor wasn’t even part of their restraint pool play. That was how he always was. Clive had hired an escort but treated her like a girlfriend. He liked his sex red hot and was always highly experimental and adventurous once things got going, but he never insisted on anything while they were clothed. Once a girl was for-sure interested, anything went. Until then, Clive was ever the gentleman.

  Nicole wanted to keep playing. There were only so many ways to keep sex fresh on Voyos. The outside world had become bashful about sexuality in the years following humanity’s brush with extinction, but Voyos was everything the outside world wasn’t. You could fuck in every position, in every hole on every person, and could do it in the middle of a group of cheering onlookers.

  It was desensitizing in a way. Sex was sex was sex, Nicole sometimes thought. How did Wellness possibly plan to push it further and make it better? They had fun toys, but there was only so much a toy could practically do. It could go in. It could vibrate. Men could thrust into you and they could come. Really, the only way to twist things back and make the same-old enticing was to increase the build-up, and make it seem hard-fought and special.

  “We can’t do that here” She looked around, half reverting to schoolgirl mode but keeping her voice at its normal timbre. The pool was filled with well-behaved people, fantastic bodies in sensible swimwear, with nary an inappropriate touch. It could have been a hotel pool 15 years ago, before the fall, when Nicole had swum at Holiday Inns while on vacation with her parents. “This is the good pool.”

  “Let’s go back to the cabana.”

  Now his eyes looked hungry. This man hadn’t hung the moon, but he’d stuck a massive radio telescope and a research base on it, and then managed to get the world’s hands rowing their oars as one. He’d once been embraced by the planet and was still beloved by the USA, Mexico, and Canada, and yet right here and now, Nicole was holding all of his strings.

  She should feel more confident, and she should pull him around by those strings. But Clive Spooner could have any woman he wanted, and Nicole knew that although she was a high-class spa girl, she was only a hire to him. Clive swore up and down that she wasn’t, but it was difficult to believe — his gallant efforts to “date” her outside of their sexual shenanigans notwithstanding.

  “I mean it. This is the good pool. I want to stay here.”

  “I can’t finger you here.”

  Their chairs were very close, the frames touching.
Clive could finger her here, slip his fingers up under the lip of her bottoms and …

  She should stop.

  There was a fine line between teasing Clive and denying something they both wanted, and right now she felt equally eager.

  The trick was to find the perfect balance between want and reward. Specifically, she wanted him to want her — and not just for the soft, wet folds of flesh under her bikini bottoms. Without being asked, he’d volunteered what he liked most about Nicole: her senses of playfulness, fun, and intelligence.

  But then again, didn’t you always have to tell the pretty girl she was smart before you fucked her, even when it was bullshit?

  His hand moved onto her bare leg, just beside the V of her suit, as if he’d been reading her mind.

  “You’re right; you can’t. Move that hand, mister.”

  Clive closed his eyes and laid back on his chair, keeping his hand where it was. The sun was warm, but Clive’s hand on her upper thigh, rolling toward the inside, was warmer.

  “Nah.”

  “It’s inappropriate.”

  “Then if you do anything similar,” he said, “you’d better not get caught.”

  Nicole looked around the pool area, then down at her body, glistening with a thin sheen of sweat. The unnecessary lotion was ripe in her nostrils. Her hand was slick with it, and she thought about all the skin that Clive hadn’t rubbed down himself. Particularly the bits the sun wasn’t seeing.

  There were plenty of others around the pool, but she and Clive had retreated to a small alcove. You could see into the alcove fine, but few people were going to. They’d have to walk up right in front of them and stare. And really … this was Voyos. The whole thing, even in play, was a farce. Twin desires warred in her mind: to elongate the game and play by the rules or to elongate Clive’s cock and play with it instead.

  “We’re not supposed to do those kinds of things here.” Nicole’s hand hadn’t gotten the memo — it was on his muscular belly, just above the top edge of his trunks. His team had invented many amazing things on that moon base once out of the law’s jurisdiction. And sure they’d cured AIDS … but had a shortcut to hard abs been one of the spoils?

  “I’m Clive Fucking Spooner.” He rolled his head toward her. “And you’re fucking Clive Spooner.”

  “I’m not fucking him right now.”

  Her hand slipped lower, breaking the plane of his suit.

  Cooler skin, then the brush of pubic hair.

  His suit didn’t rub against the back of her hand once it was inside. His cock held it high like a circus tent’s central pole, and its warmth radiated toward her fingers, making her wet.

  Clive’s fingers made their own expedition toward her promised land.

  “Let’s fix that.”

  Her breath came faster as if she was the one being seduced.

  Wasn’t she supposed to be the working girl and he the client? Who was paying and who was being paid? And given the way this was supposed to work, why was she the one breathless with anticipation?

  “We should go back to the cabana.”

  “You didn’t want to go back to the cabana.”

  Her hand wrapped around his cock. She rubbed it slowly up and down.

  “We’re going to get caught.” His fingers slipped between her outer lips, their passage lubricated by her juices.

  “Caught fucking on a sex island? Oh, no!”

  “Table girls aren’t supposed to take on freelance jobs!”

  And Clive’s response to this oft-ignored drollery was a simple, “Pfft.”

  He sat up, looked quickly around, pulled Nicole’s bottoms all the way off, and sprawled on his back, his fingers again playing in her wetness.

  Their feet were toward the pool; Nicole was bare from the waist down. She felt an odd mixture of modesty and exposure, with her most intimate parts open to the air but with her breasts respectfully hidden.

  Anyone could look over and get an eyeful. In a large sense, it wouldn’t matter. But it felt delightfully naughty, and the way Clive was teasing her playfully rather than just rolling her over to plant his pole made her heart threaten to flutter.

  She didn’t want to let it. He was a client, and you had to keep these things separate. Desire and affection were best kept in different baskets.

  “You’re going to get me in trouble.” The sentence came out cleaved in halves, with a pause for breath between “me” and “in.” Again she thought, Whose job is it supposed to be to please whom?

  “Spread your legs,” he demanded.

  “Clive …”

  His hands were doing it for her, pushing them slightly akimbo so he could nudge his fingers in deeper. His thumb stayed on top, rubbing her clit. Everything was coming alive, as if it weren’t her job to fuck for a living — officially on a glass table with her regular partner, unofficially and mostly off the books to take on the technically restricted freelance jobs that always seemed to fall in her lap.

  Clive could have any girl here. He was rich, handsome, and powerful.

  He could have the best from the designated escorts, in the best quarters, stocked with the best toys.

  But for some reason he kept coming back to the quirky little table girl with cute bangs and big eyes — something the entire staff ignored because “no freelance” was a rule that all of them broke.

  Clive and Nicole’s relationship felt like a ceramic vase on a wobbly table. She could hardly breathe, lest it should fall and shatter.

  Her legs formed a diamond, knees apart and bent, feet touching. Clive began drawing an arc from one inner thigh to the other, dodging her pussy as he teased her.

  Nicole looked up again, saw the other couples playing in the pool. But nobody was walking the deck, and they’d have had to stop and stare to get more than a peripheral glance. She slid his suit down a few inches, freeing his cock and balls. It stood proud, twitching, craving her hand or mouth.

  “I see that someone’s coming around,” he said, watching her.

  Nicole was casting glances, bending at the waist to come closer.

  Her heart was thumping.

  Why did this feel taboo?

  Voyos had been reclaimed by electrostatic levies from the risen ocean for exactly this purpose: fucking in the sun. The entire island ignored the restrictions against off-table screwing, and she’d fucked Clive — including in public — countless times already.

  It didn’t matter; the implied prohibition was part of the thrill.

  “I’m not exactly ‘coming around’ yet, but if you keep doing what you’re doing, I will.”

  She rolled to her side. Then, with a final glance around, she slid his hard shaft between her lips.

  Her tongue ran along its bottom, toying with the ridge under its head. Clive’s fingers slid back inside her, his touch more urgent with Nicole’s mouth on his cock. He was normally smooth and precise; now his movements were sloppy like an amateur. She’d managed to surprise him. That was rare.

  “Just like that, Nicole. Keep sucking my cock just like that.”

  Nicole’s fist slid up and down Clive’s lubricated shaft, her lips and tongue tickling him from top to bottom. Her hand moved down, gently cupping his balls, playing with them, mouth leaving dick just long enough for her to run a stiff tongue around the edges.

  She met his eyes with his head between her soft lips, eyelashes long, not blinking. That was one thing she’d been able to do since losing her virginity so unadvisedly early: to knock a man down with just the right look.

  “Keep sucking it,” he said. “Faster.”

  Nicole pulled her mouth away, then ran a single finger along her lips to clear the extra saliva. She made a show of looking toward the pool, implying that they could be seen.

  She didn’t care at all. Now it was part of the game.

  She shook her head. “That’s all for now. We’ll get caught.”

  His hand had moved outside, and now he was rubbing briskly across her clit, her pussy lips parted, the sen
sitive bud peeking out, every stroke of his hand vibrating it against her pubic bone beneath.

  “Well, I’m not going to stop,” he said.

  She started to reach for her suit bottoms, making a show of covering herself. There was a towel on the ground. She tossed it over Clive’s exposed shaft, glistening from her spit.

  “You’ll get us busted.”

  His hand felt good, it was getting harder to play coy.

  With his hand still moving, Nicole slipped her bikini bottoms back on, over one foot and then the other. She didn’t want to cover her pussy, but if he didn’t call her bluff soon …

  “Oh, you little tease!” he blurted, giving her that small, charming English smile. He was sitting up and looked like he was going to move his face, like he was about to go down on her right here, beside the pool.

  Nicole shook her head, playing demure. With a feeling like a breaking heart (or crotch, if there was such a thing), she lifted her hips to pull her bottoms back into place. At first, she trapped Clive’s hand inside, then she giggled, grabbed him by the wrist, and fished it out.

  “What am I paying for?” he said, joking but also growing harder, making his lump jump under the towel.

  “You’re not paying for anything other than being on the island, officially.” Nicole adjusted her suit, her pussy screaming.

  “What am I paying you for?”

  “Officially, you’re not paying me.” She gave him a little smile. “I’m a table girl.” Nicole looked out at the pool again, now in-line with the unwritten modesty rule. “One who follows the rules. And sure, some girls may take freelance gigs on the side, but I—”

  Before she could finish her sentence, Clive wrapped his strong arms around her petite frame and stood, his towel falling to the ground, expression urgent, his hunger like that of an animal.

  He carried her to a nook beside their lounge chairs, next to a utility shed. He pushed her against it, her back was to the wood, clawed his suit down another few inches, then pulled her bottoms aside.