[MF] [pee] [preg] The Madonna Inn

*crosspost from r/eroticwriting*

Hurled on the central coast of California, a few miles from the beach proper, lies the Madonna Inn. I must admit I had no idea what this place even was, or what the fanfare was all about. “Typical Californians” I muttered to myself, “thinking they invented everything. Even hotels this time!”. And yet the RSVP I received was pretty clear. This was the event of the year. The former homecoming queen, beauty princess, and 3 years in a row “most likely to win Miss America” in our little high school, she was getting married to some billionaire guy who had 3 startups to his name. He had already revolutionized and reinvented hiking, pet adoptions, and something to do with transportation. All of this seemed incredibly far from McIntosh, South Dakota, the place I called home, and that once Shelly McDonald also called home.

The school off Main Street, the one night Shelly and I made out in my old pickup truck, all of that was a distant memory. She had since moved on, made it to California. And now she was delighted to invite me to her wedding with a Mr. Big Money who had changed everything multiple times. Drive 2 days straight? And for what? A girl I had made out with once? And a hotel I had never heard of, but apparently was all the rage? Call me crazy, but I was in.

I took a week off, and decided I’d go to the wedding, and then spend a couple more days driving down to Los Angeles, replacing the freezing temperatures of my hometown with warmth and sunshine.

As soon as I made it to the main event center, I finally figured it out. The Madonna Inn is a feast of pink, of gloss, of outrageously over-the-top everything. Everything is too much. Too bright. Too shiny. Too pink. It’s like winning a supply of unlimited candy, but you’re an adult and it’s candy for the eyes only. Oh, and speaking of that, Shelly was as much eye candy now as she was that one night in my pickup truck. But, no, this is not the story of how I fucked the bride to be, cuckolded the billionaire with no common sense. Shelly said hi, smiled awkwardly, and then moved on to some other couple, apparently a member of the board of directors at some Facebook clone and her former assistant turned husband.

I headed to the bar. And that’s when the true story starts. I sat down, ordered myself a jack on the rocks, and then I saw her. I saw her sundress, I saw her black hair, I saw her gentle smile, and then I saw her tattoo. In what looked like an attempt at a Gothic font, covering the width of her forearm, a big ‘R’. If she was going for a scarlet letter, the color was all wrong. But if she wanted my attention, she had it. I had to know her. She was beautiful, in a plain “girl next door oh how lucky I was to move here” sort of way. She was the kind of beautiful that you felt didn’t need a billionaire husband and powerful friends. She was the kind of beautiful that would stay beautiful at twenty, at thirty, heck at fifty, the kind of beautiful you wouldn’t mind waking up next too every morning. She was my kind of beautiful.

Where I live, the saying goes that she is not your girl, it’s just your turn. Small town and all, everybody dates everybody eventually. But, here, clearly, it was not my turn, it may have never been my turn. I had to make an impression. A bold lasting impression, one that would sway her into putting her notepad down and talking to me instead. So I went for “hey nice wedding uh?”
She looked up, glanced around, before her eyes closed in on me, she looked confusedly for a bit, as if trying to weigh who I was and how she knew me. “Uh, yeah, I guess? Not my cup of tea, really” she eventually said
“How do you know the couple?” I asked
“My cousin” and she pointed at a girl sitting at one of the tables “works with the groom’s brother. I’m basically here to be a filler, you know. They paid for the entire hotel and it would be a shame if they didn’t have people to fill it” she explained, smiling as if a bit resigned to the ridiculousness of it all
“Funny. I made out with the bride once in high school” I told her, as if that was my crowning achievement in life. Turns out, it probably was. Not that I was great at kissing. Or that Shelly was any good with her hand. But, still, I had gotten my dick rubbed by the town’s hottie, and rich lady about to be.

She laughed. With gusto. I wonder if I had just suddenly turned Shelly into some kind of everyday laywoman to her eyes. Not an unattainable beauty and brains combination who had it all, but just an awkward teenage girl with hormones and pimples and all that. “Good for you, my man” she retorted. “I am Helen, spelled like the girl from the Iliad”
“Well, hi Helen. I am Eric, spelled like an obscure book about boarding schools”. A book that, of course, she hadn’t read, and neither had I.

We talked for quite a bit, and one drink came after the other. She was from San Francisco, but dreamed of the quiet life of the mountain states, I was from the quiet life of the mountain states, and I sometimes dreamed of the busy life of the big city. She liked beer, I loved whiskey. She was into country music, and so was I. I had no tattoos, and she had one to remember her childhood pet, Ronald the dog. He had gone to live on a farm when she was 8 years old, and to this day she had dreams about taking him for a walk. I was single, and so was she. I was horny and so was she. We went back to her room and we started making out. Her kiss was everything I had ever hoped, and more. I could barely believe my luck. I hadn’t spoken to a random girl in a bar in months, and the first attempt, clumsy as it may be, had scored me Helen, beautiful as a California sunshine, and as delightful to kiss as a swim in the warm ocean water.

We kissed for what felt like forever, but was more likely to be five minutes, and then she pushed me back a little. “Everything alright?” I asked her.
“Yeah, yeah, I just need to freshen up real quick. You know, girls pee too” she said as she walked up and towards the bathroom
“No I guess I don’t know that. Maybe I should check. For science, you know” I answered. I was tipsy enough to be bold, even beyond my own belief
And she must have been too, for she welcomed me to come along, “Fair is fair. Come look” she told me, and without closing the door, she took her dress and her panties off, revealing a thick dark bush of hair. She spread her legs, and pointed at the toilet. “Come on, hurry up, I gotta go” she said

I was in too deep to just give up, so I followed her to the bathroom, took off my own pants, my own underwear, and pointed my own hard cock at the bowl. “For science” I said, as we both started pissing. She struck a delicate balancing act, watching me go, pointing at the bowl, and laughing at how absurd this all was. And then, as the last drops left our bodies, she pulled me back in, and kissed me. With a passion I had yet to discover in her. A primal lust, a lack of restraint. Something about my dare, it had unlocked the monster in her. She had turned herself into an animal made for mating.

Before I could even realize it, my cock had slid inside of her. It had happened so quickly, so naturally, so automatically. She was hanging on to me, I had one arm pushing against the wall, leaning against it, and my cock was inside Helen. I had woken up not even having ever seen her, and now I was fucking her bare pussy.

“Condom?” she whispered.
“I don’t have any” I told her. It was the truth. I didn’t. I almost hesitated to ask it. “Should I pull out?”, I said it. It was the right thing to say.
“Fuck it, I’ve always wanted a kid” she answered
That was incredibly scary. And incredibly arousing. Helen was a woman of many surprised.

We barely made it to the bed. She sat on top of me, took her bra off, and slid herself back around my cock. She started riding. Slow. Steady. She paced herself. She put my hands on her tits, begged me to pinch her nipples, to twist them. She moaned as wave after wave of pain hit her. Her body rubbed against mine, her pussy trying to milk every inch of my cock, trying to push deep into my bones. She ached to be fucked deep, to be filled, she longed for every inch she could get. She wanted the pleasure of the friction. Every little nerve in her pussy, she wanted fucked, titillated, pleasured, stimulated. It was not enough. She couldn’t keep it slow. She fucked hard. She fucked fast. She smashed into me. Moaned. Begged. “Deeper. Harder. Faster”

She was in control, and yet she screamed orders at me, as if I wasn’t but a pawn in her hands, or her hips, or – well – all of her body. Ecstasy washed upon her. Once. And then once more. She tensed. She froze. She curled her toes. Her head arched at the sky. “Are you going to cum?” she asked, as she seemed impatient for just one more round
“Should I?” I asked
“Yeah, I told you. I like kids. Cum” she said. Was she teasing me? Was she joking?
“Ok” is all I said, and I started reciprocating her thrusts. We fucked in unison. As she smashed against me, I did against her. As she tried to pin me down and dominate, I let my hands free, and pulled her hair. She begged for more. I bit her neck. Slapped her. She begged for more. She begged for me to cum inside of her.

Eventually it was just too much. I knew I was but a few thrusts away from giving in. “I will cum if you don’t stop. I’m serious” I warned her.
I was met by silence. She kept at her laborious job. She fucked. She wasn’t joking. She was not teasing. She was truly ready for the risk. And, to my surprise, so was I. With one last thrust, I held her pushed against me, I locked her tight, and let go. I grunted, and wave after wave of cum came out of me, and raced inside of her. I felt everlasting pleasure, a powerful overarching orgasm, like a bridge to the heavens.

And then, spent, we laid next to each other on the bed, her legs slightly raised, as to make sure she truly took all the chances she could on getting knocked up. And then we walked off to the dinner. We fucked again that night. And again the next day. And again that afternoon. And we fucked one last time before she took off north and I took off south. I had her number. She had mine.

It’s been 3 months, and I have yet to get a call. Will there ever be done? Will Helen ever make her way to McIntosh, South Dakota, where life is slow and roads are empty? Will she bring a baby along for the ride? Or were all of our attempts in vain?

Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/dixvow/mf_pee_preg_the_madonna_inn