Jenitalia

Peter White brushed back his longish brown hair and stared at his angular face in the mirror. His brown eyes stared back, unblinking. Looking better now, unwinding after the long drive, he decided. A hot shower had worked wonders.

Turning to open the door of the motel room, he faced a glorious sunset, the intense orange glow to the west silhouetting the towering wooded mountain ridges. A nice reward for choosing to leave the interstate today for a more scenic route north from Florida, he thought. Tomorrow early though, back to the four-lanes and pedal-to-the-metal home to Buffalo.

As was the case at the motel, the small rustic log restaurant across the parking lot wasn't busy this weeknight, just a couple pickup trucks and a Jeep in sight. He had figured his jeans and tee shirt would blend right in with whoever was there. The sign, sporting the silhouette of a howling wolf, identified the place as the Evenstar Steakhouse.

In a few seconds he entered the front door. The log-walled interior was decorated mostly with folk-art paintings of mountain scenes and animals, and some deer head taxidermy. An enormous black bear skin stretched across the back wall. Pete felt a strong impression the place had been in business a very long time. The front counter near the antique cash register included a rack of locally made handmade jewelry for sale, many fashioned from arrowheads and colorful polished stones.

"Good evening!" came the cheery greeting from a young lady emerging from behind the counter.

Not bad, he thought; petite, nineteen or twenty maybe, spectacular tanned cleavage, nice ass, long auburn hair and a great smile.

But... too young now, he had to admit. And her sparkly engagement ring. Once upon a time maybe.

And of course, there was Pete's fortieth birthday a few days ago. The celebration with old friends down in Daytona had been a blast. Hell, to be honest it had been an orgy. He was single again, and former girlfriends from his college days had lost none of their freak on hotel beds and balconies.

The greeter's perky voice brought him back to earth. "Just one this evening?" He nodded. "Follow me, nice sunset tonight, are you staying next door?"

"I am, and it really is beautiful," Pete replied, glancing into her blue eyes. She wasn't really on his radar, but he still couldn't resist a little flirt.

"This booth okay?" she chirped. "You can watch the sunset over the mountain from here."

"Perfect, thanks." Pete settled in, she handed him the menu, and he ordered a long-neck.

"Your server will be here in a sec. Enjoy your meal!" Pete watched her walk away in her slim tight fitting black pants. Damn, he thought, in his younger days she would have been on his menu too.

His fixation was broken by the arrival of his beer.

"Hi there, I'm Jen," she said in a soft mountain twang. "Ready to order, or need some time?"

She was tall and trim, mid thirties he reckoned, with deeply tanned skin, lustrous straight black hair, high cheekbones, and an intriguing smile that instantly captivated him. Her blouse barely contained her spectacular breasts, the nipples clearly prominent under the coarse multi-colored fabric. Around her neck was a thin leather thong, looped around a flint arrowhead that nestled in her deep cleavage. She wore silver hoop earrings, incised silver bracelets, and silver rings on her fingers, but he noticed no wedding ring. There was an indescribable aura about her, magnified by intensely piercing brown eyes, that aroused his curiosity. And his cock. He shifted on the seat, trying to appear nonchalant.

"Jeez, I dunno, never been here, what's good?"

"Well, I personally looooove a big beef tip or two." She winked slyly.

Wow, he thought, where's this going?

Pete cleared his throat. "Know your way around meat, eh? Guess I should take your advice." He felt his face flush, an unfamiliar reaction for a man who prided himself on his prowess with women.

"Oh trust me, I'm an expert," she said, leaning in. The arrowhead slid slowly down her cleavage as she pointed to the list of side dishes. "See anything else you fancy? How's your appetite tonight?"

"Hungrier by the minute," he heard himself stammer as he stared at her breasts. "Um, baked potato, thank you Jennifer."

"With a big squirt of sour cream I'll bet," she teased. "I can sense you have a... healthy appetite. And it's not Jennifer."

His brows raised. "Just Jen?"

"Not quite. Maybe I'll tell you sometime." The sly wink again.

"Aww, that's too bad Jen, I'm back on the road to New York first thing in the morning. Now you've got my curiosity all worked up."

"Your curiosity huh?" she grinned knowingly as she pushed a long strand of hair back behind her ear. "Well, maybe we'll see if you're a good tipper. How'm I doing so far?"

"Batting a thousand. I'm liking what I've seen."

"Me too. I'm beginning to think you'll do," she laughed, and disappeared off into the kitchen.

I'll do? Well that's intriguing, he thought with a grin.

The brilliant sunset had faded into deep purple as the day slowly turned to night. Through the windows Pete noticed a bright star appearing over the darkening mountaintops. The ridgelines were still faintly visible against the night sky as the moon rose. Can't get this view in the city, he thought with a sigh as he sipped his beer. Looking around the room after a time, he noticed he was now the last diner in the place.

"Dig in, here you go." Jen set his sizzling meal before him, her arm brushing his. "Need anything else?"

I sure as hell do, he thought, the touch of her arm still electric on his skin.

"Good for now Jen, thanks. You closing soon? Looks like I'm the last one here."

"In a half hour, take your time. So what's your name?"

"Peter. Pete. White."

"Peter Pete? Well which is it, Peter or Pete?" she laughed.

"Take your pick Jen, whatever you like."

"Well I personally looooove Peter," she cooed.

"I'll just bet you do," he smirked.

They both erupted in laughter. He was loving their little game.

"Well damn Jen, you might as well sit down if it's almost closing time. Keep me company while I eat."

"Why not?" she laughed. "Just a sec, be right back, I have something else for you."

She returned from the kitchen with an unlabeled wine bottle and two glasses, and slid into the booth opposite Pete.

"Call it the house wine. On the house tonight. I make it myself." Jen glanced at him playfully as she uncorked the bottle and poured the glasses.

"Thanks Jen, this is an unexpected pleasure. Cheers."

More like pure magic, he discovered as the first sip passed his lips. The sweetness was perfection. He took another sip, then another as a warm glow immediately began to relax his body.

"I knew you'd like it," she said, taking a small sip and leaning back in the booth.

The buzz of the wine, her intense gaze, and the nipples prominent under the stretched fabric of her blouse were beginning to drive Pete to distraction. His meal was rapidly losing priority as his cock began to swell again in his jeans. He took a few more sips and she refilled his glass.

"So you're from New York? The Big Apple."

"Buffalo. Coming b'back from my birthday party in Florida," he stammered between bites.

"Well happy birthday Mr. Peter! And how old are you... wait... you're forty now aren't you? You wouldn't travel that far for just any birthday. And no ring, so I'm guessing you're divorced too. You're too handsome not to have been married at least once. And I'll bet you thoroughly enjoyed yourself down on the beach. By forty you could teach them a thing or two, right?"

"Pardon my French but f'fuck, how'd you guess all that? And you're... hmm... thirty-seven, and divorced too, right?"

"My, we've got the gift of insight don't we? Except I've never been married. And let's just say I'm older than you can imagine and leave it at that. By the way, I speak that kind of French fluently, so no worries."

Pete raised his glass. "Parlez fucking vous Jen. Cheers again."

"And parlez fucking vous to you too," she laughed. The beef was tasty, but so was watching her lips on her glass.

"So you gonnnnna tell me about your name now? Why it's not really Jennifer?"

"I might." She handed him the meal check.

"Alllllright, here's for the meal and your tip." Pete dug into his wallet and produced a fifty, pushing it across the table. "Half for the meal and half for you. Imp'peccable service Jen."

"Much appreciated Mr. Peter."

Her eyes narrowed into a serious gaze. "Now my name... and I warn you if you laugh you'll be WEARING the rest of that meal... is Jenitalia."

Pete nearly choked. What the fuck? He dropped his fork. The room was starting to spin.

"I'm s'sorry. Seriously?"

"Don't pretend," she frowned. "At least you didn't laugh. Bad things happen when people laugh at my name."

"But how..."

"My Granny named me. I lost my parents just after I was born. Jenitalia is a very old name of a wild plant that grows only on our mountain. The wine you're drinking is made from the flowers. Granny Evenstar raised me up there. The Evenstars have always lived there, as far back as anyone remembers. My mother's name was Jenitalia, and Granny Evenstar's, and her mother's, and so on, far back into the past. You might say it's a sacred name to us."

"You've never wanted to change it?"

"It's respected on the mountain. Sure, I got tired of explaining my name to outsiders, so down here it's Jen. You got a problem with that? You, a guy named Peter for fuck's sake?"

"Hell no, Jenitalia is absofuuucking perfect! Rolls off the tongue!" he smirked, his speech slurring.

"Well I'm glad you agree, Mister Tongue Roller." She returned the smirk.

"Where'dja get the arrowhead?" he asked.

"It's a lance point, for an atlatl, a throwing stick. Granny passed it on to me when I was a teenager. It has the spirit of the hunter."

"I think it's working," he grinned, "I'm a little dizzy. And your silver brace'a'lets, what are those marks?"

"Those are glyphs, from the rock shelter over the mountain where the Jenitalia grows. They're very old. You finished with that meal now? Closing time."

Jen slid out of the booth and gathered up the dishes with his half-eaten meal. "Back in a sec, don't leave without me," she whispered.

Pete stood up shakily and shuffled to the window, staring at the moonlit mountains and the bright star above them. His head was spinning and his cock was painfully hard in his jeans; the wine was having its effect. Jen emerged from the kitchen, slipped her arm in his, and together they walked outside into the cool night air.

"That star you were looking at is Venus," she said.

"My room's over there, let's..." he muttered.

"Wrong, Mr. Peter, into my Jeep. My house tonight."

"But I gotta get my..."

"You're not gonna need it. Get in!"

Jen helped Pete settle onto the deerskin hide that draped the passenger seat. A dreamcatcher made of twisted vines dangled from the rearview mirror and little sparkly amulets hung here and there.

"What are these?"

"I make jewelry and crafts. And I own the steakhouse, even show up there occasionally, like tonight. Those are spirit charms. You charmed yet?" Jen laughed as she started the Jeep and turned on the headlights.

"You have nooo idea how ch'charmed," he muttered.

She glanced down at the bulge in his lap. "Uh huh, so I see. Well, try not to lose your dinner, city boy."

----------

it was obvious Jen knew the winding mountain roads around here by heart, he surmised in a daze. Anyone else at the wheel would have killed them both. She drove steadily upward at speed in the dark as he lost all sense of direction.

Eventually turning off the main road into a dense grove of pines, they proceeded downhill beside a narrow creek where the water rippled under the rising moon. She brought the Jeep to a halt in a clearing in front of a small log cabin. A light shone through a window near the door.

"Here we are, Mr. Peter. Welcome to the Evenstar mansion." They swung out of the car and she helped him down the path as an owl hooted in the distance. In the moonlight Pete could see the space was crowded with hanging plants, dreamcatchers, pottery of various sizes, bird feeders, homemade brooms, and a couple of old-fashioned ladderback rocking chairs.

Jen stepped up onto the plank porch ahead of him. His gaze shifted from her shapely jean-clad hips to her cleavage in the dim light.

Placing a finger on his lips, she whispered, "Quiet now," and slowly opened the door. He followed her inside and immediately froze in his tracks. An enormous reddish canine rose to its feet, growling menacingly at him, hackles raised and teeth bared.

Jen spoke calmly in an unfamiliar language. The huge animal immediately whimpered and settled back down on a woven mat near the hearth.

Heart racing, Pete slowly exhaled. "Fuck, I've had a few dogs, but I know a f'fucking wolf when I see one. I'm outta here."

"He won't bother you. I told him to go back to sleep. Watch."

Jen drew Pete close, crushing him against her breasts. She wrapped an arm over his shoulder, squeezed his jean-clad erection, and kissed him deeply. Through the rush of arousal he could see the animal's eyes were already closed.

"Now," she said. "I'll get a fire going in the hearth. Take off your clothes and lay down over there."

He glanced over at a black bearskin pallet on the floor. "You don't waste time, do you?"

"Just do it," she snapped.

Fuckin' A, he thought, wolf or no wolf. As he clumsily stripped, Pete surveyed the small room. It was a scene straight out of frontier times.

Nearly every log wall surface was covered in handmade items: shelves with potted plants, charms, quilts, carved bowls, wooden boxes, bundles of decorated feathers. The hearth mantle was covered in lush vines; above it perched large elk antlers, an antique long rifle, and several flint-tipped lances. Frames filled with arrowheads were on display. A simple wooden table, ladderback chairs, a spinning wheel and a reed basket were against the wall opposite the hearth. Next to the sleeping wolf was a rudimentary painted drum, an animal hide stretched over a simple wooden hoop. He could see there was another room, but beyond the dreamcatchers hanging in the doorway it was too dark to make out anything inside.

The hearth quickly crackled with a warm fire. Stretched out on the soft furry pallet, propped on his elbows and completely naked now, Pete watched as Jen slowly turned toward him. His cock arched over his belly, long and rigid.

"You've always been proud of that, haven't you?" she smirked, raising a foot to remove a sandal, then the other foot. Unzipping her jeans, she slid them down her smooth thighs. Sweet heaven, he discovered, no panties! She was unshaven, natural, her thick bush jet black and glistening. He could smell her arousal now, and his thick cock throbbed.

"Pull off my jeans," she commanded. Pete leaned forward and tugged the fabric over each foot. When he attempted a clumsy kiss on her toes she kicked him gently backward again. Pulling her blouse over her head revealed the dark hair in her armpits, and her heavy breasts bobbed free. The nipples were large and dark; her bronze body had no tanlines.

She reached for a shallow bowl of dried roots on a shelf and stuffed a handful into a small painted clay pot. Lighting a thin stick in the hearth fire, she ignited the roots and covered the pot. Next she picked up a small cylindrical clay pipe, uncovered the pot, and drew the smoke into her mouth. Kneeling beside Pete, she blew the smoke back through the pipe into each of his nostrils.

It took his breath away. In a daze he could hear her low voice speaking in the strange language again. In seconds, a tidal wave of pleasure flowed throughout his body. While his arms and legs went limp, the energy in his groin became intense. He moaned, overwhelmed.

Pete's head fell weakly back onto the pallet as he watched Jen standing over him, her wet labia clearly visible now amid the dark curls between her thighs, her breasts shadowed in the low light.

"It's time to meet Josiah," she said.

----------

Pete gasped in shock as a young man emerged totally naked from the other room. Slim, muscular and deeply tanned, his long jet-black hair was tied back. His girthy uncircumcised cock swung beneath a thick mat of dark pubic hair. His sharp high-cheekboned face and deep-set eyes were expressionless.

"Josiah is twenty and he's getting married soon. You met her in the steakhouse tonight. She's an outsider and she's been saving herself for marriage. Josiah's father sent him to me to teach him how to please his new wife. This is a rite of passage for him. I'm considered a teacher and it's a special honor. Granny and my mother were teachers as well."

"Josiah, begin," she commanded. The young man seated himself cross-legged between the pallet and the sleeping wolf and took up the drum, beating it softly with a wooden stick in a slow cadence.

Pete was lost in sexual lust now, his blood pounding in time with the drum, too overcome to raise himself up, protest, or even fear the wolf. He stared up in bewilderment at Jen.

"That was smoke from Jenitalia root. You'll reach ecstasy tonight Peter, and you'll fall into a deep sleep afterward. You're safe here. I chose you to help me teach Josiah."

Jen slowly lowered herself until she squatted over Pete's face. "This is what women crave, Josiah. Peter is a tongue roller."

Her musky scent, overwhelming now, filled his nostrils as she slid her swollen labia over Pete's lips. The thatch of black hair brushed his face as he submissively tongued her wetness. He found the stiff pink pearl and sucked it gently into his mouth, flicking it with his tongue. He tasted the salty wet folds and thrust his tongue deep, again and again, until she moaned loudly and her body shuddered.

Jen raised herself up and sighed deeply, passing her thumbs over her stiff nipples. "The drumming is ended now Josiah. Show me your erection."

He lifted the drum and set it aside, revealing his cock engorged and throbbing, the head fully emerged and drooling with arousal.

"You may stroke yourself now. Peter is aptly named. He's going to fuck me in the woman-on-top position. He's experienced and his erection is thick like yours. Don't be afraid you'll be too big for your bride. Watch."

Jen's hand encircled Pete's cock and guided it slowly into her warm wetness. Sliding down fully as his hips rose, she began to gyrate her pelvis. Every fiber of his being was focused in his phallus now. He felt impossibly hard inside her as his hips surged. She leaned over to offer a stiff nipple to his lips; he whimpered as he lapped his tongue slowly over it.

"Oh yessss, Peter, that's wonderful." She reached over to grasp Josiah's erection, smearing her palm over the wet swollen head, and began to stroke his length.

Pete struggled to keep from exploding now as she rode him faster, her moans increasing. Her climax came with a load groan as she clenched his cock, shuddered and fell forward on his chest. The wolf awoke briefly with a low growl, but slowly lowered his head to sleep again.

Exhaling deeply, Jen raised herself up and off Pete's hips. His hard cock glistened in the firelight. Except for the energy still pulsing in his groin he was barely conscious now, but he saw her remove her arrowhead necklace and place it around Josiah's neck. On all fours, she positioned herself between Pete's legs.

"Get behind me Josiah and fuck me. Your first fuck."

She took Pete's cock in her mouth. He could feel the moan in her throat as the young man entered her from behind. Her tongue swirled and flicked, she sucked and traced his length, licked his balls, and drew his cock deep into her mouth again and again.

He felt himself slipping away as her body jerked with Josiah's thrusts, her breasts swinging. The young man grunted loudly, Jen moaned deeply and shuddered, and Pete heard the wolf's unearthly howl. In an instant he too went over the edge, felt himself cum harder than he had ever cum, and blacked out.

----------

From somewhere deep in his brain Pete heard the buzzing of the motel alarm clock grow louder. He opened his eyes to find sunlight streaming between the curtains and onto the bed where he lay. Reaching over over to slap the clock into silence he noticed the time: 8 am.

"Shit! Overslept," he muttered. His head was pounding, his ears rang. He stood up to stretch but nearly fell over, staggering backward onto the mattress again. Damn, what time did I get to bed, he pondered. No memory. A meal at the steakhouse, and he seemed to recall flirting with the waitress, but after that? Must have been yesterday's long drive and too much to drink last night. Fuck, what a hangover!

Pete managed to shuffle off to the bathroom to relieve himself, brush his teeth and take a couple ibuprofin. He threw his stuff into his travel bag and reached for his shirt and jeans on the back of the desk chair. Fuck, these smell like smoke, he grimaced. Was the streakhouse that smoky?

He had no choice but to pull them on anyway, with no clean clothes left in his bag, and he slipped his loafers on. Leaving a ten dollar tip on the desk, he headed down to the motel office.

"Thanks for staying with us," the matronly raven-haired clerk replied as Pete turned in his door card and picked up his credit card receipt. "We're in the middle of nowhere, so we appreciate our guests."

"Sure. Are they open for a fast breakfast next door?"

"No sorry, not until noon. Hope you have a safe trip today."

Just my fucking luck, he thought. Probably not enough time to eat anyway. Out to the car he strode, throwing his bag in the trunk. Unlocking the door, he swung into the seat. His headache still throbbed.

It was only after he fastened his belt, started the car and rolled down the window that he noticed something dangling from the rearview mirror.

"What the fuck is this?"

Pete pulled the leather-thonged flint arrowhead down and turned it over and over in his hand, puzzled.

"Now why would I have bought this? Fuck, I must have been drunk out of my mind," he muttered.

He tossed it out the window, put the car in gear and drove off for Buffalo.