A Dutiful Wife
by Sydney Michelle
Chapter One
"Ai-e-e! Harder! Faster!" I wailed like a banshee as Blake humped above me, slamming me deeper into the mattress. My hands clung to warm sweaty flesh, my hips shimmying for all they were worth. My belly heaved, undulated, as if it could suck the precious life into my belly. I thrust my chin up, gasping for air as I ground my head into the pillow of my curls, barely aware of the pins holding what remained of my oh, so special coif.
Blake grunted, eyes squeezed shut, working toward the climax, feeding off my excitement toward a mutual orgasm. The small of the back shivered, spasmed, hips cliched and thrust forward, commingling damp strands.
Hot wet walls clasped against hard slick meat, holding it within, milking it, drawing forth hot sticky goo to swirl and mix with pungent dampness. Fluids of life poured between us, pungent, hot, wet and sticky, even as we convulsed and clamped together.
"Oh, oh, I’m coming! Oh, oh, oh ga-aw-wd, yes, yes, YES!"
"Give it to me, Baby, all of it, give it to me!"
We shrieked and moaned, clutching each other as our bodies locked together, fused in a sweaty embrace. We lost strength, relaxed, rolled away to breathe and lie beside each other in drowsy afterglow. We held each other tight, touching nipples slowly subsiding from bullet hard to soft and giving. We drifted off in each other’s arms, drowsing until strength returned.
"Migawd, Miz Jones, but you are fantastic!"
"Being married hasn’t meant I’ve lost the touch, has it?"
Eyes fluttered, a long, slow sigh escaped. "Lordy, no. If it were any better, I’d just burst, I know I would. Was it good for you too?"
"Sweetheart, you know just how to please me. You were so sweet not to pressure me for it last night, thank you. I’m sorry I was so tired, but I had to finish up the case notes so we could get away. I’ll never know why partners look upon the day after extended weekends as such a good time to schedule summary conferences."
"If that were married life, you could have it. A wife goes and has her hair done to look nice, puts on your favorite perfume, slips into something tight and lacy and you go dead to the world. I swear I would have been insulted if wafting red-eyed gravy from the ham bone under your nose hadn’t failed to get a response either. When you won’t come to for ham and scrambled, I know you must be exhausted."
"But I made it up to you this morning, didn’t I?"
"Hmph. Pawing around under the covers like you owned it."
"I can’t help it. I feel your sweet, warm hiney nestled up next to mine, smell you next to me, feel you stir under that silk little nothing, I’ve just got to have you. Besides, you like it, I know you do."
"You sound awfully sure of yourself. Wives don’t like being taken for granted, you know."
"In that case, if it’s so distasteful, I suppose I could just leave you alone for the next nine months. A dutiful peck now and again, but you needn’t be bothered. After all, the firm will keep me busy."
"You wouldn’t!"
"If I’m so annoying, . . ."
"You leave me alone while you’ve got me all swollen like a grape and you can just whistle for it the rest of our married life."
"Like this? You just put your lips together and blow, isn’t that right?"
"Just like that."
I closed my eyes, slipped my arm around her neck and pressed my lips to hers. Soft, warm, yielding lips, parting to invite entry, tongues touching softly, stoking love rather than passion. After all, the third time before lunch, and no breakfast, leaves even the most under-served wife temporarily out of commission.
Blake kissed her way across my cheek, nibbling my ear, nuzzling my neck. I arched and she pressed against me. Lordy, that woman is insatiable, and I love it!
Her tongue licked beneath what had been my ringlet, searching for my ear. Soft lips captured my lobe, teeth pressed ever so gently into warm flesh. I moaned and shifted toward her, my flaccid member slipping from her sopping slit. I couldn’t, I just knew I couldn’t, but I wanted to be close to her, as close as we had been a year ago when we wed, closer than we might ever have the chance to be again. I slipped a leg between hers, feeling the warm plastic slip from my rear.
Her hands stroked my flank, caressing my ribs, my hip, then sliding between us to comb my wet thatch, to graze my stubby pussy stick. She touched it, fondled it, stroked her property. It was hers, available to her whenever she wanted it, needed it, just as she was mine.
I arched to her touch, pressing my breasts to hers, but as much as I willed it, my only response was to be close to her, to feel her warmth to smell the results of our couplings. I slipped my arm around her waist, worming my nose into the cleft of her neck slowly, so my nose ring wouldn’t pull. Nestled in her warmth, I inhaled.
"Phew! I love the odor of our loving, but you’re awfully strong. We better take showers before we start to ripen."
"Like fine cheese, I like you when you’re ripe." Blake’s hand in my hair pulled my head back. She kissed my eyes, my nose my lips. "I could just eat you all up."
"You did that already. We need to get clean. Then you can have a good time getting me all dirty again."
"In, out, up, down, a woman’s work is never done."
"And you love every minute of it, you know you do."
"Can I help it if being around you makes me all wet and gooey?"
"Wouldn’t have you any other way, Miz Jones."
"And I wouldn’t have you any way but all stiff and receptive, Mrs. Jones."
I touched her breast, running a polished nail tip around the aureola before stroking the pointy nipple. "I’d love to stay and play, but I really must go."
"Not even if I do this?" Blake cupped my warm mound before sliding down to take my teat in her mouth. Her tongue rolled over my nipple, teasing it like she knew I liked it.
"No! I mean I really have to go!" I pushed her back, throwing back the sheet and swinging my legs over the edge of the bed.
"Lemme know when you’re done!" was the last thing I heard as I closed the bathroom door. It’s funny how years of childhood admonishments keep holding on. Here I’d just been turned every which way but loose by the woman I’d been married to for a year, lived with another, and all I could think of was that Gwen might walk in on her brother if I didn’t lock the door. Not that I sat to pee in those days.
All that bug tusslin’ had moved more than fluid down, so I kept sitting, elbows on my knees while I managed to empty myself. It felt so good, sliding out, almost as good as when Blake shoved it in. Different kind of relief, but then if you’re gonna eat, you gotta poop. And clean up afterwards.
As I washed my hands, I looked myself over in the mirror. My hair was a rat’s nest, courtesy of Madame Jones. I just can’t understand why women pay good money to look like they just tumbled out of bed with a lover when we who do, want, make that need, to look immaculate. Oh well, time for some repair work after my shower.
"Dibs on first wash." I stepped aside as Blake, who obviously felt the urge, rushed past me into the bath. Not even a cursory peck. Course if she had stopped, she’d probably have dribbled all over my toes.
Slipping into my fuzzies and throwing on my short blue wrapper, I wandered into the front room of the cabin. The State certainly hadn’t gone overboard in these one bedroom cabins, although I suppose it had seemed more than adequate when the 3C boys built them back in the Depression. The kitchen, if you could call a cabinet, a wastebasket, a stove, a wall sink, and a small fridge that was more freezer than refrigerator, a kitchen, shared the room with a fold down table, four bent back chairs, and a couch in the sitting area facing the fireplace. Not that we would use that; the heat of summer lingered well into the Labor Day weekend. For a weekend alone, it was adequate, although I would have to remember to tote along a microwave the next time we came.
I bent over, peering into the fridge, trying to decide what in our small larder would do for breakfast. At least I had known to pack coolers, remembering that the park store had limited supplies and high prices. I certainly didn’t want to spend much of our precious time together driving to Bensonville and pushing a cart through the grocery. Although a little A/C might be a welcome break after being all hot and bothered. Oh well, rough it like the pioneer women, rasing crops and fighting off hostiles between birthing babies.
I dug in the back, hunting for cheese for an omelette, surely I had remembered to pack the cheese, when I felt a hand familiarly caressing my hiney. "Got milk?"
"From the carton, or fresh from the cow?"
I straightened up and turned to drape my arms around Blake’s neck. A kiss, a squeeze, those little attentions that make a wife happy, and Uncle Peter twitched. Just a little, but an indication he might come out to play with a little recovery time. I shimmied up against her.
"Doing my own milking is so much fun. You’re not lactating, are you?"
"I’m not even pregnant! Yet. But keep rolling me over in the clover and I could be that way."
"You wish. For someone who wasn’t sure about having kids, you seem awfully eager to get on with it."
I rested my forehead on her chin, running the backs of my fingernails over the cleft between her breasts. "If we’re going to do it, Blakey-Bear, I might as well have some fun. Dr, Laney said it would be better if I were all relaxed for the procedure."
"Oh she did, did she? Is that the only reason you’re being so nice to me this weekend?"
I drew my head back and kissed the tip of her nose. "Of course not, Silly. But it sure beats relaxation tapes, doesn’t it?"
Blake slapped me on the fanny. "Don’t use all the hot water."
I stood to attention and saluted. "Aye, aye, Ma’am."
First, a good face scrub. Not that I had worn a lot of makeup sliding into bed last night, but what there was had definitely been disarranged. Better to scrub it off with a washcloth while you could see the results than make a spotty effort under the spray. It was good thing I had brought hot rollers. Blake teased that I couldn’t go anywhere without them, but a coman just has to make a good appearance. I plugged in the set to heat while I was in the shower. I picked at what had been a lovely nest of interlocking curls before Blake had demolished them, trying to decide what I could do with them. Oh well, later.
The spray wasn’t that hard, even on full power. California water conservation rules ruled all the State facilities and a good soak wasn’t in the cards. Still it got you wet, enough to soap throughly, twice in the pits, and wash the scum down the drain. My main call to comfort, besides an extended period with my arm draped across my head while the drizzle ran over my shaved smooth skin, was to lean against the back wall and spread my cheeks. Nothing like being thoroughly clean back there. Blake’s juices had run down between and, if left on, could lead to those unsightly rashes. Forget unsightly, they itched like the dickens It was nice when Blake rubbed ointment on my crack, but it still itched and it sure interfered with full bore loving.
As I tied the ends of the fuzzy towel over my breasts, I heard Blake yell: "Don’t wash yourself down the drain "
I stuck my tongue out at the mirror, it wasn’t even fogged so the bath had to be drafty, as I pulled off my shower cap. "Come on in, if you can squeeze in. I’m not bashful."
Blake stuck her head through the door. "Sure there’s room, Doc?"
"It’s a squeeze, Grumpy, but I’ll be out just a soon as pop in some rollers. Suck it in as you go by and you’ll fit."
I bellied up to the vanity, at least the State had upgraded the wash room with plugs and a little shelf space, so she could slip by. I felt her curves fit against mine, her hand reaching through the towel to caress my taut belly.
"Seems a shame to waste a good shower only to get all smelly again, There’s only so much hot water, you know."
"Now you behave, Blake. A wash, something to eat and you’ll feel better. I know I will if I can just do something with this hair." I twisted a tendril around a small roller, pinning its warmth against my ear.
"You could just take it down. I like seeing it fall around you, you know."
"Maybe tonight. After a shampoo, you could comb it out and play with it. But I want to feel you kiss me through my curls again first."
"Pageant Queen."
"I only came in third, remember? I have to try harder if I’m to keep up with Jan and Thelma." I pinned the other ear.
They’re not here. I am."
"So I can smell. Avaunt thee, wench, into thy bath with thee."
"Scrub my back?"
"Not in that black hole. Get to it, lady."
"Your wish is my command."
"I wish."
Blake laughed as she shut the shower door behind her. She began to sing Oh What A Beautiful Morning as the spray began to beat against the walls.
Three more rollers set my nape. Nothing like romantic tendrils spiraling over your skin to show your lover where you want to be kissed. And licked. And nibbled. But my top. It was impossibly crushed. There was no way I could restore that beautiful mass. At least they had served there purpose to get me well laid. Maybe spider curls for her to sink her fingers in next time? At least they didn’t have a directed shape.
I slipped back into my wrapper, headed back to the kitchen. Blake would need something to sustain her through the next round. So would I for that matter. Might as well eat hearty as soon I would be eating for two. Hope, hope.
Our old skillet plopped on the eye, the uneaten ham in to reheat. Turn on the stove to heat. Four eggs in the bowl to beat. Muffins on a tray since there was no toaster. Dry cereal, fortified, in the bowls, banana slices arranged on top. Some thin slices of cheese and two sliced mushrooms for the omelette. Plate the ham, add butter to the gravy to grease the pan. Beat the eggs, adding salt, pepper, basil. Pour in half, pop the muffins in the stove. The food is heating nicely even as my curlers cool.
Cooking breakfast is so hard; there’s just not a break and everything cooks so fast you feel like you’re a couple of hands short. At least there was time to do it, rather than our usual grab and dash. It makes me feel so domestic, so fulfilled to fix something for the woman I love, as though I can really do my duty to take care of her and the kids when they come.
Over the last two years I’ve learned that being a good wife is rather dutiful, taking care of those details that make a house a home, not that we have a house, so that your beloved is free to concentrate on career. And you. A clean pretty place just screams "Romance" so long as you don’t get all frantic about its getting messed up in the process. Our place will never be as close to perfection as Jan and Drew’s, Jan really gets off on tidy, but it’s no pigsty. The trial of clothes into the bedroom is a definite trail, not just additions to the pile.
It’s just this kid thing. Not that I will mind raising them, or even nursing them. It’s just the thought of that needle going in and then all those months of wondering how it will turn out. Or get out for that matter. I know the study has delivered lots of babies from males now, and Toni’s Angela is just the cutest thing, but, well, you can’t help but be nervous the first time. Mom tells me that even women are the first time, nervous that is, but I’m not even a woman.
I mean I like what they’ve done with my body, Blake playing with my teats is such a turn on. And I like being attractive, and pursued, and getting all prepped for her. Mom was so kind to donate some of her womb tissue for my nest, but really now. Jamie Alba Blair’s body certainly wasn’t built to bear babies. I mean my hips have gotten rounder, but my pelvic girdle is unchanged, and there’s no opening down there in case of an emergency. And it’s not like I want one, either. My pussy stick is fully functional, and Blake and I both like it that way.
But it’s a wifely duty. After all she’s the brainy attorney on the way up, and I was Marian the Librarian, not at all dowdy, thank you, at least for a few more months. So that weekend was prep for my getting implanted; I still thought I’d like them the old fashioned way. Still, Blake had a point. She didn’t need to worry whether her water is about to break in the middle of a big presentation. At least she said she’ll help with the wet nursing since that helps reduce her breast cancer risk. We’ll see.
One omelette done and I’m wishing I were an octopus. If I do this with kids, it’s got to be dividing one whopper omelette, at least until some of them are big enough to help. With the muffins brown, the plates joined as a warmer go back into the oven. I did turn it off, right? Right.
"What smells good?" I hear Blake pad into the common room.
"Not me, obviously."
"I wouldn’t be so sure about that." She plants one lightly on my nape.
"Behave, or your omelette will scorch."
"Yes’m. What can I do to help?"
"Lay out the table and pour. Milk and juice is in the fridge."
Noises stage right while I add cheese and ‘shrooms and fold. Pop plates from the oven. Ouch! Hot! while the eggs set. Act like a one armed paper hanger getting the food distributed while watching progress in the skillet. With everything arranged, turn with plates and big smile. "Coffee, tea, or me?"
"Can’t I have both?"
"If you’re real good."
"I always am. Or so you say."
"Egoist."
"Harlot."
"I love it when you talk dirty to me." I put the plates down on the fold down table. Blake put her arm around me and snuggled against my nape.
"Have I told you how sexy you are when you’re fixing a meal?"
"Then too?"
"Why don’t I just eat you up right now, Little Red Riding Hood?
"Oh, what big eyes you have, Gramma."
"All the better to appreciate what a delicious morsel you are, Sugar-Bear."
"So sit. And eat. You need your strength. And so do I."
"Gr-r-r-r." She nipped my shoulder, drawing flesh inside to suck . "A foretaste of treats to come."
"Before it gets cold and soggy."
"What about stiff and warm?"
"Not yet. This love machine can only go so long before refueling."
"Okay, I’ll behave."
For a few minutes there was only the sounds of slurping and crunching as the boilers were stoked. Of course there was the feel of toes creeping up my shin, exploring, fondling, rubbing as they plainly considered their right. Of course my legs falling open may have given them that impression.
Blake looked up, pausing with her juice cup before her lips. "I take it the honeymoon isn’t over?"
I smiled back, holding my milk cup lightly below my chin. "It was just interrupted for a little while."
"Let’s not ever loose that feeling."
"Dad says it may go dormant awhile, fatigue and opportunity you know, but it’s amazing what resurfaces after the kids are gone."
"The kids can go to camp. All summer long."
"Our daughter’s not even conceived and you’re wanting to get rid of her. Sure you want to put me through this?"
"Positive. I’m going to love you all the more when you’re all pooched out, feeling the baby move. It’ll give me a chance to take care of you for awhile."
"You do that anyway." My hand reached across the table, our fingers entwined.
"Not that way."
"You did say you’d love me when I couldn’t see my toes and all up-chucky and everything."
"I did? I will, but when?"
How soon they forget. "After the wedding. Before we drove off and I turned into a witch."
"Oh." Her blank look turned into a smile. "Oh! I did, didn’t I?"
"And I’m going to hold you to it. Now eat up so we can wash up. I want to use the pool before it gets crowded and blistering."
The trouble with trying to share wash and dry? Old wandering hands can’t keep focused on drying the dishes instead of my bottom. I mean a little of that is nice, but it’s kind of hard to do a good rinse when a friendly digit is imbedded in your bum. Still, Uncle Peter was getting closer to being re-commissioned.
My tendrils were fresh, but my top was still a mess. But it’s nice sitting on the floor, taking out your nose jewelry while your honey grooms you, de-tangling the thatch and combing it smooth before coiling your braid into a top chignon. Then you return the favor, not the de-tangling part, but the combing and brushing and braiding. Her wavy black hair was so thick it would bush over everywhere without something for control. A French Braid climbing the back of her head, a figure eight coil on her crown and she looked both controlled and sexy. As if that were a contradiction.
Of course it didn’t hurt that she just poured into this light blue one piece with the back cutout and high French cut legs. Our breasts are about the same size, C-cups, but mine are definite mounds while hers are flat and heavy. With a little support and compression, Blake really has a set on her. Being married still hasn’t tamed her passion for turning heads.
Not that I do so bad myself. Now that I’m for real upstairs, I like a bikini that shows me off to advantage. Of course I have to be careful or I’ll freckle instead of tan, what with being a redhead, but if you’ve got it, flaunt it. I have to choose my bottoms carefully because I certainly don’t want to flaunt that, but so long as the front panel is full, high cut leg holes show off a nice pair of legs.
I get my share of looks and I’ve even been propositioned once or twice. I just wave the wedding set on my finger and murmur, "I’m taken. Very taken." Of course I make sure Blake wears her wedding band when we’re out and about. Then we’re just two married women having a little fun. If we keep it restrained, people haven’t a clue we’re married to each other.
Suited, robed, carrying beach bags, we headed for the pool. Although the old saw about swimming after eating has been dis-proven, I like to sunbathe first, then swim and come back after a quick dry. We got to the park pool just before noon, so it was pretty cleared out, moms gathering their chicks for lunch. There was one trying to corral a set of stair steps to whom I paid special attention.
I always keep an eye out for tips on womanly and motherly behavior. I’m a little behind the curve, make that a lot, so I’m trying to squeeze twenty something years of casual education into a short time. I keep hearing everyone has their own style, but I worry I’ll miss something basic, like putting your bra cups in back to fasten the eyes before sliding it around to fit. I’ve got restroom and hair salon down pat, and my old male wardrobe is long gone, except for a few baggy shirts and sweats that women seem to wear when they’re schlumping around, gardening or something.
Those four kids were terminally cute, except they really weren’t ready to get out. Then running from Mom became a game and she wanted to terminate them on the spot. There was one little girl, the oldest, with long blonde ringlets, naturally wavy hair I’d say from when it was wet, who was just so cute in a green stripped tube type halter suit who would just shriek and paddle away. Her fun came to a sudden end with Mom on the edge of the pool shouting, well not exactly shouting but very firm and very loud, "Emma Jane Winslow, if you don’t come out of there this instant, you’re going to spend the rest of the holiday permanently attached to Jeremy." I take it Jeremy was her littlest brother, just in the scoot stage. Emma Jane was up the ladder as fast as she could go, not looking very happy about it, but considering the alternative a fate worse than death. It brought back memories of tag along Gwen.
It was nice to stretch out on a towel and slather lotion on each other. It would have been nicer in private, where you could really touch, but it was nice to be slicked up with sun block number 40 and fry for a few minutes on each side. Big, dark, polarized sun glasses and we really felt glamorous. The ambience wasn’t perfect, there were still a few shrieking cannonballers present, but there was grass, and water, and a really nice looking young female lifeguard. ‘Tweren’t bad, McGee.
While we were on our stomachs, Blake did her stretching exercises. I may be biased, but she is amazing. She can arch back and bend up her legs, pointing her toes so they touch the top of her head. No wonder she keeps on me about my stretches. At least I can roll all the way back so my knees are on my shoulders when she makes me feel like a wife.
We had just settled on our backs when two very trim, very built, young men walked up. No wedding rings, it was a wonder they were here rather than someplace where the trolling was bound to be better.
"HI. I’m Tom. And this is Mike. Can we get you ladies anything?"
I cast a glance at Blake and let her take the lead. She pushed up on her elbows, moved her glasses back on her forehead. The fellahs were certainly getting an eyeful. "Why that’s awfully sweet of you boys, but I’m not sure the husbands would approve."
"We’re harmless." The bulges in their suits said otherwise. "Are they around?"
"They’re on the lake. Fishing." Blake adjusted her shades, flashing the ruby in her golden band.
"They’re ignoring the best cath of the day?" Tom flashed a big smile. I’m certain they considered us the "catch of the day." They had visions of us stuffed and mounted, just not in that order.
"Nothing can become some men and their fish. Some women are golf widows, some are football widows, and some compete with a fish and a lure."
"As alluring as you two are, that shouldn’t be a problem." Mike pursed his lips as he gave me the once over. I was being mentally undressed but I’m sure he had no idea what really lay behind my black cloth triangle. He stared at it intently but discretely, trying to make out the outline of pussy lips. I cocked a knee, blocking his sight line.
"How sweet. But we’re just here for some rays and a dip before we head back for a nap before the menfolk return expecting us to clean what they catch."
"We could keep you company. Help keep the wolves away." As if they weren’t already here.
"How flattering. The trouble with modern marriages is that women are expected to pull down a paycheck and still keep house. Having the boys gone awhile really does give us a chance to rest."
It must be something about lawyer training. Blake kept it spinning without missing a beat.
"After your dip, we could get a bite. Maybe a spin on the lake. We brought up a boat to water ski."
So that’s why you’re here. I’ll bet food isn’t the only bite you boys have in mind.
"How kind of you to offer. But we really couldn’t take advantage. Besides what if we should ski past the husbands? They might not understand. And Josh carries a pistol on the water. For snakes." Blake flashed a big smile, leaving no doubt that snakes could have two legs.
"Well, if you’re sure we couldn’t keep you company." Tom was still pitching although Mike’s face had frozen and turned a little pale. "I mean it wouldn’t be any trouble."
"No, I’m sure none of us would want any trouble. But it was sweet of you to offer."
"We’re just going to get in a few laps before going out. If you should change your mind?"
"We’ll let you boys know. But just now I want to get ten minutes of sun."
The stud muffins walked up toward the deep end, their tight buns clearly outlined beneath the tight strips of cloth.
Blake lay back, sliding her sunnies down on her nose. "Nice boys."
"Blake! How could you," I hissed. "They might not have taken ‘No’ for an answer."
"Oh sure, at least so long as we were in public. Now if we were alone with them, they might have thought ‘No’ meant ‘Maybe.’ We just have to make sure they don’t follow us back to the cabin to ‘keep company’ until Josh shows up."
"Would they?"
"Probably not. There’s no guarantee they might not push their luck. Never is. Get some sun."
She turned her head to watch as Tom and Mike climbed the high board. Tom paced the board, walked back, ran two steps, bounced and flew off in a perfect swan. At the peak, he cut a perfect jackknife before entering the water with a "sploosh." Not clean, but nicely controlled. A pair of teenage girls with long straight hair sitting at an umbrellaed table clapped. Blake smiled.
"They found an audience. I bet they’ll have company and we’re safe."
Mike posed backwards on the end of the board, flexed and sprung, executing a full layout twist and a half. Again the entry splashed too much for competition, but neither boy was a threat to empty the pool. The dives weren’t terribly difficult, but they had good form, and more importantly for them, showed off their forms nicely. The pair swam to the far side ladder, shaking themselves off ostentatiously for their appreciative audience.
"A couple more dives and those girls will have wet bikini bottoms, and not from being in the water either. Tom and Mike are going to have plenty of company in their boat, I’ll bet."
The boys pretended to pay no attention to the girls as they remounted the high board. This time when they emerged from the water, the girls were waiting with towels.
"We’re safe. Want to swim?"
I pulled out oversize bathing caps and we stuffed our hair under the protective covers. My poor ringlets! They would be crushed under the hood, but it wouldn’t take much to bring them back to life. Racing goggles protected our eyes from the chlorine and we slipped in over the side. Side to side was way less than Olympic, a quarter mile took way too many turns, but I wanted more cool water than distance. I did have pride in how my figure had trimmed up, but I was about to lose that. I didn’t want to swim so much that I felt like eating a horse. After all the concession stand hamburgers seemed a little chewy and I wasn’t European enough to eat a nag.
With a couple of laps to go, we noticed Tom and Mike at the table, the girls leaning close to display their charms. The girls looked a little young, although these days you never can tell, but I doubt Tom and Mike worried about statutory rape laws. Not that we were going to make a point of it.
When we climbed out, I suddenly became aware of how much more closely a wet suit clung than dry one. "Am I showing?" I whispered frantically to Blake.
A discrete glance, a head shake. "You learned to tuck long ago. You are gaffed, aren’t you?"
I nodded. "It’s just I’m draining and it felt like . . . I dunno. I just should have worn the maillot."
"You’re fine. Very sexy."
"That’s what I’m worried about." I began stripping off my cap.
"Mike and Pat?"
"Tom and Mike." I nodded.
"I wouldn’t worry, they’re shooting fish in a barrel."
"It’s just when Mike stood over me, I felt like he wanted to mount me on the wall. After mounting me personally."
"No doubt. My wife is a looker."
"Hush. I’m beginning to think you would invited them back if there had been a second bedroom."
"Wouldn’t Mike have been surprised to unwrap your package?"
"No doubt. But that’s not what I’m here for." I folded the towels for the bags.
"Me neither. Let’s go take a nap."
Back in our robes, we tied the scarves of our big floppy hats and headed for the gate. I was for heading around the shallow end, but Blake had to go the other way. Of course that took us past the boys and their eager companions. All I can say is that each pair had evil on their minds and I was glad that I was not going to be there to see who did what to whom.
"Hello, boys. I’m so glad you found someone to attend. Going skiing?" Blake positively purred.
The boys looked up. The girls glared.
Tom gulped. The girls were young and Blake’s robe was open enough to display the difference between a girl and a woman. "Uh, yeah. In a while. This is Monica and Marilyn. These are, uh."
"Blake and Jaimie. So nice to meet you girls. Did I chip my polish getting out of the pool?" Blake extended and turned her foot, perfect scarlet polish showing off each toe. The girl’s trendy purple plum polish by contrast emphasized that they were, well, girls.
Tom double gulped, looked at the trim ankle as if he wanted to fall to his knees and pay homage. "Oh, no, they look, uh, fine. Perfect, in fact."
"That’s nice. Have a good time boys." Blake waved and we headed for the exit.
"What was that all about? I thought we were well rid of them and then you go and taunt them."
"I just wanted to show the competition who really held the field."
"Competition? What competition? We’re married. Happily, I thought."
"So we are. But women are always in competition. It’s not that we’re in the hunt, but sometimes you just have to remind everyone concerned that you aren’t sloppy seconds."
"But those girls didn’t know we existed."
"Don’t be naive. Of course they did, There weren’t that many people in the pool. Besides, it was the boys I really wanted to remind of what they really wanted but couldn’t have."
"You have a mean streak I didn’t know existed."
"It’s not so bad. It’s just if they spread those bang tails, I want them wishing it was us. And the way the girls looked at them looking at us, they’re not nearly as likely to spread ‘em."
"So that was a charity kill?"
"You might say so. C’mon. Let’s get back."
And Blake led the way, humming Love in the Hot Afternoon.
The cabins had shade, but no air conditioning. With an Ozark lake a stone’s throw away, the humidity hung in there. Screened windows opened, hidden behind latticed shutters. You might not could see, but we could hear voices, ball games in progress, children squealing with glee. It was dark, reasonably cool, with a breeze blowing through, but we were, at least I was, intensely aware that any noise we made was likely to be overheard. I’m not the ultimate screamer, but over two years of intimacy with Blake has made me more expressive. To be honest, with a plug up me and my pussy stick embedded in her, I can’t help letting her know how much I like it. We’re going to have to sound proof the bedroom once the kids come. Either that or have our own wing.
Fresh from the pool, our skins were cool, so slipping into satin wasn’t such an imposition. Blake has this silver corselet thingy, with black accents and garter straps, and a knee length slip to match. With her hair up, and dangling jet ear bobs, and sheer black silk stockings leading to open toed mules, well Uncle Peter has to be dead tired not to stand to attention. Me, I’m partial to white with red accents, stiff boning to shape my waist, and white sheer stockings. I like a half bra that serves up my teats like ripe fruit, along with some bangles, baubles, and beads. Drape a filmy peignoir over them, preferably with a front split so it doesn’t tent, and we’re ready to lie together and try to restrain ourselves. Just not literally. After all, there still are some limits.
You lie down with every intention of being good, of behaving, of getting a little nap before playing. But your perfumes waft over you, you’re so close, and she’s so soft, and you’re so hard, and you can’t go to sleep without a good night kiss. And so she kisses your lips, your eyes, your cheeks, your throat, and then her tongue is swirling over your nipples and you’re starting to mewl like a helpless kitten. She’s being good to you, so you want to return the favor. Somehow her thighs are over you, so you kiss above the stocking tops, licking and stroking and nibbling warm flesh. You keep moving from one dry spot to another until there’s just the area below her thatch, that warm pungent slit you know really isn’t dry, at least not for long.
But she’s so good and how can you not respond when you feel her engulf you, holding onto your lollipop so she can lick it just right. So you kiss, and lick, and swirl your tongue over warming walls, your cries muffled by the nearness of her. And you’re building under her touch, so you probe deeper, faster, wanting to please her as much as she is pleasing you. Then your cheeks begin to clench and your belly to ripple, and you feel her derriere shimmy under your fingers. Finally your legs spasm and extend and freeze, and the two of you are arching into one another, tits firm and hard against the other’s waist.
With the last furious licking, you wanting the other to cum as much as you need to, the fluids release, spasming and splashing through to the other, each feasting on the fruit of love. You drink your fill, the love juice affirming your need and affection for one another. Then you relax, expended for the moment, sated but desiring more, each wanting to feel the other in them. But it was so good, so when she turns around and kisses you, your fluids mingle in the final spent aphrodisiac.
So you hold each other and kiss, and touch, and are grateful that you have each other. So your breasts are a little more ample than run of the mill. It feels so good when she touches them. So you have increased your flexibility so you can wrap your legs around her waist, or roll back to offer your orifice to her. Being filled while filling her emphasizes the union of body and spirit. So you’re going to bear her child rather than the other way around. It’s our child, our union, so what does it matter whose body provides sustenance while it grows next to your heart? So you moan as she rides you, "Fuck me good, hard. Screw me, Make me pregnant. Give me a baby." They will be beautiful, and strong, and loving, and you will love them dearly, learning how love expands from one to many.
After all, you are a good and dutiful wife, so you will be fruitful and multiply, and your craving shall be for your spouse who shall rule over you. And your price shall be above rubies, and your children shall be clothed in scarlet around beautiful curls. They shall grow in grace and wisdom until one day they find their mates, pledging themselves to love truly, in sickness and in health, in good times and in bad, for richer or for poorer until death do them part. And the cycle starts over again even as you and your love discover each other anew.
As you lie there drowsing, you feel the mattress shift. You open your eyes a crack to see her kneel beside you, her torso free, unencumbered. Straps encircle her hips, straps holding "Stubby" on her, pad on her clit, the thick mass protruding toward your face. You know it, you want it, you reach for it and take it in your mouth. You lick it, and suck it, warm it and wet it, even as you open your legs for her. For you are hers and when she takes you, you know that she is yours.
You open to her, roll back for her, and a pillow lifts your tail to her thrust. She enters as you moan, "Good, so good, yes, take me, take your bawd." For her, you are a bawd, a strumpet, a wanton. For her, you will prostrate yourself, wanting only to be with her, knowing she will care for you, love you, fulfill you.
So she thrusts in and out, opening you, parting you, expanding you. Her belly traps you between you two and the press engulfs you, squeezing you, teasing you, Again the pressure builds, you swell and thrust back in rhythm to her, wanting to give to her, take from her, be one with her. She bends back so your legs spread off your shoulders, clasping around her waist, gathering her to you. Your hands grasp her shoulders, pulling her teat to teat as she takes you, possesses you uses you, fulfills you. You gasp for air and shudder with the first orgasmic spasm, For you now have orgasms, spasms driving your jism through you, rolling over you, rather than one numbing climax. And you cry out with pleasure, for you are hers, body and soul.
Dimly you are aware of her face above you, open-mouthed, eyes squinted, contorted with her own spasms, shared product of your efforts. Her body shudders. She drives home, driving the drill deeper as she shudders against you. You feel it dive deeper, spreading you, splitting you, and it hurts so good. You are so proud that she wants you, needs you, and you will be hers whenever and however she wants.
She withdraws and rolls off you, your legs entangled. You fumble with the snaps, helping her slide the drill off her so you can lie close and cuddle. Your fingers caress her thigh, touch her damp strands, cup her mound. Her heat pools in your palm and you are content that you have pleased her. Your finger slips between the folds, curved lightly over her tidbit, gently resting amidst the damp pleat. She stirs and you move with her, resting together, gently breathing past one another.
And you know, just know, that you are hers, as it should be, and you will bear her young as it will be, and you will rest content. For you are her wife, and your duty is your joy. And you know, just know, that when you swell, you will be so proud that your fecundity proves that you are loved. When they ask what happened, you will say proudly, "She did this to me," and that is how it should be. When your babe, her daughter, is brought to you, you will hold her to your breast, and you will flow with love and nurture as well as nourishment. And that is how it should be.
For you are a coman, her coman, and you now know that is a fate not to be feared but desired.
So thrust home, woman, and again, woman, and yet again so that your coman may become whole, and lovingly fulfill his duty as wife and present you with offspring, fruit of your loins.
§§§
Monday we left early for home, trying to beat the rush. Well, as early as one last prolonged romp would permit. I half sat, half lay, in my familiar navigator’s seat, playing with the braid trailing loosely over my breast. I was betwixt and between, half recollecting what had transpired, half wondering what the morrow would bring. How would it feel for the needle to penetrate? Would the pregnancy take? How would it feel for life to grow within me? Would I become ugly and misshapen?
Even leaving early, the passage through Bensonville was a crawl. If we were to come this way for the leaf turn, we would have to find another route or be stuck looking at tail pipes rather than foliage. Waiting for a light, I felt her hand steal over mine.
"You Okay?"
"Uh-huh, Just a little tired."
"Tomorrow’s a big day, You relaxed?"
"If I were any more relaxed, I’d be a puddle. I’m amazed you can drive."
"You may have to spell me. You Okay with tomorrow?"
I squeezed her hand. "You’ll be with me, right?"
"Uh-huh. You need someone to drive you home afterwards." She eased the Cheetah forward, almost making it through the intersection. "Not that I’d miss it for the world."
I sighed. "Then I’ll be alright."
"You sure? You’ve always been a little hesitant about having children."
"It wasn’t having them, it was bearing them. I mean it’s not like a man gets pregnant every day."
"So are you Okay?"
"Uh-huh. Something clicked Saturday. I’m a coman, just as Chrysalis calls us. More importantly, I’m your wife. Wives have children, right? Right. So I’ll have ours. It seems right for me to have ours."
"You nervous?"
"Yes and no. Something could always go wrong, even for a natural born female. But we have the best medical care paying close attention. They’‘ll have checked the genetics, so that worry is gone. I’m just worried it won’t take."
"There’s always next month." Blake moved forward through the light and we inched toward the entrance to the multi-lane.
"But it’s hard on you, harvesting eggs. I just hope Blake settles in."
"I thought we settled that. No juniors in this family."
"She should be named for you."
"Not Blake Junior."
"Different middle name?"
"Not Blake."
"We have a few months yet."
"Just not Blake. Maybe Amber."
"Amber? You want a pageant queen?"
"A pretty thing like her mother? Why not?"
"Because she’ll be our first born, a role model for the others. She should be strong, and determined, like her dam."
"I thought you said I was stubborn and mule-headed,"
"Well, sometimes. Maybe a little more open to discussion."
Silence ensued while Blake maneuvered through traffic. Once the cruise control was functioning, albeit ten miles an hour slower than Blake’s usual press of the generosity of the County Mounties, she opened up again. "But you’re Okay with it? Really?"
"Jan’s thrilled to be ‘with child.’ We sorta promised each other we’d keep each other company through the first. Besides, Thelma’s preggie too. I’ll be fine."
"I didn’t realize this was a group effort."
"We could always try for natural implantation one more time tonight."
"We do, and I won’t have the energy to drive you to the clinic tomorrow."
"You sure? I could put on the black peignoir and you could take down my hair again."
"You willing to drive from Springfell?"
"If it means my Blakey-Bear gives me some action tonight. Just so I go in all relaxed, you understand."
"Strictly in the interests of medical science."
I smiled and snuggled down, wondering if I put on the garter belt and stockings whether I would get a double header.
§§§
"Mom? It’s Jaimie.
"No nothing’s wrong.
"I just called to let you know we were back from the lake.
"And Mom? We’re going to try tomorrow, so say an extra prayer for me tonight, ‘kay?
"About a week to ten days.
"A girl.
"I’ll let you know how it comes out.
"Thanks Mom."
Blake ran the brush through my hair once more, spreading it over my back. She kissed my nape through the strands.
"Have I told you lately that I love you?"
"You better. Good and hard."
The stockings were worth a double header.
(continued)
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