A Dutiful Wife
by Sydney Michelle
Chapter Ten
The week would have been all pins and needles if I weren’t so sure that I had taken. As it was, it dragged along even though I tried to stay busy. I did try on the kimono for Blake to see how it would look, kneeling down for my best imitation of the deferential Oriental female serving tea to her mistress. Blake commented that I was a little round above for the classic image of the nubile Japanese maiden. She offered to adjust my kimono to try to hide my "ample charms" but that led to touching and that led to . . . Around her, I’m always Ready Freddie.
Tuesday evening, I could hardly wait for her to get home. It just didn’t seem right for me to pea on the strip and her not be there. After all, our baby was a joint project. I had supper fixed, salads on the table, cheese and mac on warm, cheese sauce for the broccoli waiting in the microwave, herbal iced tea for me, the real thing for her. I wanted it light enough to keep us frisky, but balanced so Mary Elizabeth would get all the nutrients she needed.
In the year since we’d married, I had become domestic, my effort to even up the contributions to the Jones joint financial pot. Besides, I found I really liked it, liked taking care of my Blakey-Bear. It’s not that our apartment was spotless, or that all the meals were gourmet, but we wouldn’t get staph or ptomaine. I kept the washer and dryer humming almost daily, since we kept the bedroom humming almost nightly. Now I would have to turn my attention to the spare room, the one we used as a home office, but which would have to become the nursery.
Nursery, a place where a mother nurses her child. A crib; a rocker; a soft, clean floor where Mary Elizabeth could happily crawl and play patty-cake with her parents; a toy chest for soft, safely chewy toys, just the necessities to keep her safe and happy and stimulated. All that would have to wait for my confirmation; surely Jan would take the lead in our group, advising us on the best things to buy. She and her mother had only been planning her first great event ever since we had had our nests implanted.
Blake wasn’t too late, and wasn’t starving, having noshed a turkey club on the firm chit. We had resolved to eat supper together at least three week nights to remind ourselves that work was not the most important part of our lives, and she knew tonight was special. After a hug and a peck, she began to set the table while I scurried off to the bathroom.
My tummy was all aflutter as I opened the box. I had already read the instructions several times, but I glanced over them again just to be sure I didn’t make a mistake. I’m still male enough that reading the directions is usually an act of desperation. I had been sipping water steadily since getting home, so my bladder was all primed and ready. I could easily have provided a sufficient stream, but I had decided the clean glass dip method was surer.
So I sat, the habit was well installed by then, bunched my skirt and lowered my panties. My hand was trembling so much, you would have thought I was about to do my first hand job. But a deep breath and closed eyes let me relax and aim, until warmth climbing the glass warned me to look. After all, I didn’t want to spill. The excess went down the drain, and boy, was that ever a relief! I had the stick poised in my fingers ready to dunk when I realized I’d better tell Blake.
"Honey, I’m starting!"
"Go ahead. I’ll be right there."
I crossed my fingers on one hand while lowering the stick caught between polished fingertips slowly into the soup. I closed my eyes and counted, "One Mississippi, Two Mississippi, . . ."
"How’s it coming, Sweetheart?"
I shook my head, trying to stay on count. "Five Mississippi, . . ."
With the full minute passed, I opened my eyes, carefully lifting the stick from the glass, As the resident domestic engineer, spilling was not in my best interest. I set the stick on a washcloth, daring not look before it had time to turn. I spilled the urine into the toilet, turned and washed the glass out in the sink, twice. Only then did I dare raise my head, smoothing my lipstick with my fingertip and checking out my makeup in the mirror.
Blake’s hands grasped my shoulders. "Tell me what it says, Sweetheart."
I took a deep breath and looked down. The little patch was pink, most definitely dusty pink. I spun around and gave her the biggest hug ever.
"Oh Blake! We’re pregnant!"
§§§
The rest of the evening was a blur. We ate, I know because there were dirty dishes in the sink the next morning, but mainly we retired for baths and snuggles. I put on a long peachy negligee, one that tied under my breasts and had lots of maneuver room. There were no rollers in my hair that night, I wanted to be all hers and I would get done the next morning anyway. The sheets were folded down, the lights were dialed down, and strings were punched up. There was something about being pregnant that was just so sexy, and we were going to indulge it.
Blake paused in the bathroom door, her body showing through her negligee by the backlight of the overhead spot. Her hair fell in loose waves over one shoulder, her hand rested against the jamb. "Are you all ready, Sweetheart?"
"If you don’t get over here this minute, I’m going to go crazy."
Blake flicked off the light and floated across to me. She sat on the edge of the bed, bent forward, her hair closing out the light. I closed my eyes and let her kiss me, content for my dama to take charge. Her kisses trailed down my cheek, her nose brushing aside my curl. When her tongue tip slid into my ear, I arched to meet her. My knees drew up and fell apart. I wanted her, I needed her. I was hers to do with as she wished.
Blake knew what I needed. Her kisses rained on my throat, my shoulders, even as she positioned the drill tip between my cheeks, The blunt tip moved up and down, becoming warm and moist. She pushed it lightly against my ring. I opened to her, raised my knees to distend and take the now familiar hardness within me. Her mouth grazed down, down inside silken folds to cover my throbbing nipple as she worked the drill inside me, poking me gently, bringing me to full erection.
"Yes, oh yes, take your wife, my dama. Take me and make me yours."
She slipped a pillow under my raised cheeks, positioning me for her. She slipped between my legs, her silk parting to offer her hidden silk. I was warm, I was hard, I was hers. I steadied myself as she lifted her hips, positioning herself to engulf me. My wand swayed against her, dampening with her moisture, parting velvety folds. Her mouth above engulfed mine, her mouth below engulfed my tip. She thrust forward, taking me inside.
"Yes, oh yes, it’s so-o go-o-od!"
My legs clasped against hers, my arms slid around her back, pressing her breasts against mine. Her arms slid up my flanks, under my back, pulling me to her. She pumped, her tunnel sucking at me, drawing the first drops from me.
"Yes, yes! Don’t stop! Don’t stop!"
She humped, sliding me in and out, grinding her clit against me with every downstroke. I rose and fell to meet her, helpless under her assault, wanting it never to end. I was her mare, her ewe, her wanton hussy, and i didn’t want it any other way.
"Oh yes, yes! Yes! Take me, split me, screw me!"
Blake redoubled her tempo, pumping me for all I was worth, working to draw the hot jism from my balls. Her fluids flooded from her walls, coating my stick with her ointments. Our perfumes mingled in the flood, oozing down and out, wafting between us with every bellows pump of our buttocks. I lapped my legs over hers, drawing her onto me. Her strokes rippled over my stick, milking its contents.
"Yes, oh yes! I’m cumming! I’m cu-um-min-ng!"
I locked against her, holding her to me, shimmying against her. Her belly shook against me, her tail jack-hammered mine, her mouth gasped for air beside my ear. I arched, tensed, felt my heat spurt through me. I gave her all I had to give, squeezing against the hardness impaling me, grateful for the aide milking me dry. We held each other tightly, melding our warmth, straining to maintain a hardness for her last shivers.
She rolled to the side, maintaining our embrace, holding me in her arms. I breathed deep, inhaling the odor of us. I turned on my side, snuggling close, feeling our breasts intertwine. The drill slipped slightly from my rear as our legs shifted to more comfortable positions.
"Good for you?"
"Yes, Mistress. Your love slave is well served."
"Any regrets at being a wife? My wife?"
"Never. I am your wanton hussy, your coman, your mare to be ridden. All you have to do is cock your little finger and I will be by your side, panting."
"No regrets over being pregnant?
I slipped my arms around her neck, my hand behind her head, pulling her to me. I kissed her lips, lightly, lovingly, our lips parting to capture one another.
"Never, my love. I will proudly walk behind you, big bellied for all to see, point and proclaim: ‘Hoo-hah, she did this to me. And I will beg her to do me again.’ For I am your love slave, your brood mare, yours to use as you see fit."
She kissed me, and cupped my breast, and warmth spread throughout me, for I knew that I was her beloved.
§§§
The next day I was back in A Cut Above, not rested, but relaxed and happy. As Ashley washed me out, he asked if he could come to our support group meetings. I had to tell him that I would have to ask that weekend, when we had our next meeting. Things had not improved on his social front in any tangible way. Apparently he had opened up to a fellow student who he thought would be sympathetic, but she had not produced any candidates. Instead she have shared his desires with some of her friends. Their approach had been to kid him about it, apparently thinking, or was that not thinking? that would make him feel better. All he had gotten out of it was a really dramatic hair style, big curls all piled atop his head. At least he had been taken out by two of them and one had had kind words at the end of the evening.
When I told Jolene about our Mikado practice, she thought I should try a Gibson too, just to get an idea of how I would look. I was quickly all in curlers, large for smoothness and lift, with another set of small curlers at my ears, brow line and nape for softening curls. I certainly didn’t complain about those: Blake had liked kissing around the ones I had had the week before. I spent a pleasant hour under the hood while Sharon worked over my nails. She chattered away as she clipped and prodded and sanded and polished my nails, but you really have to choose between getting good and dry and hearing the gossip. I chose relaxing while my hair got crisp.
Fresh red nails makes a girl feel finished, desirable. Since I closed, Blake and I would not eat together, but I couldn’t help but wonder if the sight of crimson nails creeping around her mounds might not get me a little action. On the other hand, we hadn’t exactly gotten a full quota of sleep the night before.
Jolene barely settled me into her chair and started removing the rollers before she had to ask, "Well? Any news?"
I smiled into the mirror. "Not officially, but the stick was pink last night."
"Oh goody. Now I can tell, right?"
I shook my head. "Let’s wait until I get the official word. I’ll let you know next week."
"You really know how to hurt a woman, Mrs. Jones. Keeping news like this in is against the hairdresser code of ethics."
"Let’s just not spread any false alarms."
"If you put it that way. How’s Blake taking it? And when are you going to get her back in here for me to work on?"
"She was thrilled. I never would have guessed a possible pregnancy could be a turn on."
Jolene began to blend the curls together, pulling my head back slightly with each stroke. "Surprised me too. When I found out I was carrying my first, Carrie, my hubby came on like a house afire. Seems like as soon as our doing it couldn’t get me knocked up, his libido went into overdrive. For three solid months, I had more fun than I had had since our honeymoon.
"A Gibson is no fun unless it’s big, Jaimie, so I’m going to tease it more than you’re used to."
She lowered the chair so she could raise my hair. Sections stretched up, were under brushed for volume, then bent forward until my entire head was a big puff ball. I was getting all excited just from the pressure. Jolene wasn’t saying anything, just squinting and working to get it right.
"Symmetric is classic, but just off center is more interesting. I’ll center your curls just a bit to the right if you don’t mind. That suits your face better, I think."
"You’re the artist." She was, she really was. Thelma had steered Jan and me right, even though the station stylist usually did her hair. Not trims and cuts though. She only let Jolene scissor her locks.
Spray, brush, spray, brush and pin, more spray, light little fixative spritzes each time. My long locks gathered at my crown, tumbling just to the right. "Let’s see if we can’t give you a reason to call for an emergency touch-up this weekend."
I wouldn’t have bet against it. Blake almost took a fresh do as a challenge, Of course when her fingers were sunk into my curls, guiding me to get her honeypot flowing, I was like a little puppy dog, my tail all a-waggin’ Like on our mountain vacation with Jan and Drew, it didn’t take much of that to have me stand like a bitch in heat, panting for all I was worth as she serviced me.
Jolene worked a basket of three big curls across my top, a couple of fat barrels behind them, and then big sausages over loosely trailing spirals. Blake would have plenty of choices to run her fingers into. I planned to squeal and moan with delight whenever she pulled my head back to make my neck available. And that sucking sound? That would be me getting another love sign from my sweetie-pie.
Jolene unraveled the small curlers, tightening and positioning the curls with her fingers. A cluster of curls dangled before my left ear for balance. Then there was a final coat, and a mirror, and the usual, "Do you like it?"
What was not to like? A tall pompadour swirled under a nest of curls. Love curls graced my kiss points. Curls on my crown and trailing down my back practically begged fingers to lead me to the bedroom and turn me into a mewling pussy-cat, begging for milk. I was going to be washing a lot of sheets and grateful for every one.
"Jolene! It’s gorgeous! I can hardly stand myself!"
"Honey, if you have to, you can always use the washroom."
"Thank you. I do feel the urge that requires a little relief."
"Down the hall to the back. You know where it is."
It was so pretty, it didn’t take long. My compact mirror gave me a limited view of the style. Closing my eyes, I could see it better in the mirror of my mind. My wand was pushing to get out from behind my pad, so it took just a few strokes and squeezes to spurt. Blake had pumped me really good the night before, so there was just a little spurt to clean up.
I gave Jolene an extra big tip for an extraordinarily lovely and exciting hairdo. I was going to love Geisha hair.
It was my turn to host our bi-weekly support group that weekend. Since we met at the clinic to have enough room, that basically involved having something to drink and nibble for the short time before and after the hour long session. Even so, Jan and I always helped each other: no tin of store bought cookies or an appetizer platter for us. It wasn’t much more trouble and less expensive to do deviled eggs and finger sandwiches of tuna salad and PBJ. A couple of bags of chips, a punch bowl of lemonade and soda ice cream punch, and everyone remembered our spreads. I mean we had the punch bowl and silver trays, so why not use them? We didn’t have to worry about coffee: the clinic employee lounge always had a pot.
Our group wasn’t restricted to comen and our spouses, since there were just Jan and me and a local couple, Sandy and Samantha Ford, who were in the middle of her transition. Sandy did political polling and Sam ran her phone bank. Sam had been undergoing treatment for about five months and was filling out very nicely. If she wouldn’t finish as a D-cup, she wouldn’t miss it much. Her hair was flaxen, with a little bottle assistance, and she usually wore it in a big, shoulder grazing flip. Sandy, who was four years older than Sam, wore her highlighted, dark blonde hair in a bubble page with waves moving onto her cheeks. She was a bit of a mother hen, very protective of her future wife. Sam liked that. She really wanted to be "the little woman," even though she was at least two inches taller than Sandy. She wanted it to a degree that troubled our psychologist, Dr. Linwood.
We met with half a dozen girls who were in Richards’ Sexual Reassignment Program. There had been some tension when Jan and I were introduced. The first reaction from some of the women who had gotten their slits recently was that we were freaks, neither fish nor fowl, and the goals of the Chrysalis Program. would stigmatize them. Dr. Linwood had worked overtime to settle that down, complete with extra individual and group sessions to discuss sexual identity and tolerance. The common point had been the possibility our program held that the new women could eventually bear children. That prospect that thrilled some and terrified others. Relations grew smoother as the original "Nervous Nellies" had moved on, some away and some fading into their new identities. Half the current crew predated us, half had always known us as part of the program, so the feeling that this was "their" group had diminished. We weren’t close, we had our own lives and their paths and ours didn’t cross. Jan and I felt, despite outward politeness, that that was their preference. We just held onto our best manners and ignored snippy comments.
Five of the six came with time to nibble. They may not have been buddies, but they did like our food. Dr. Linwood was there a half hour before the group began, per schedule, making her informal assessments as she circulated. With her instinct and experience, she could smell out a disturbed psyche almost as soon as you entered the room. When she suggested we all take a seat, we knew the time had come to get down to business.
Each session she always had each of us make a short statement of any issues we wanted to discuss. You didn’t have to have any, but that gave everyone, even quiet, introverted Melody, a chance to talk. Otherwise a blabbermouth like Stacey could just rattle on all session about trivia. Her angst over choosing a new hair shade just didn’t measure up to concerns over relationships, and jobs, and family/ Stacey was so self-focused she could hardly believe we weren’t all enthralled by her life. If she had been a running soap opera, maybe, but she was just so desperate for someone to talk to that she drove off her potential audience.
We had just finished the round when Linda popped in. The group joke was that it was a good thing she wasn’t a naturally born female because she would never have known if she were pregnant: she was always late. She liked to attribute her inability to be on time to her gender issues. The rest of us had decided that however else she was born, an internal clock was not part of her equipment.
Dr. Linwood recapped the outstanding issues before asking her if she had any issues for the group this week. Linda took a deep breath and we collectively braced for a litany of wardrobe issues. "No, not yet. Robert, he’s a new salesman who comes by, je took me out. I just don’t know yet."
"Know what, Linda?" Dr. Linwood hopped on anything out of character like a bird on a June bug. For Linda not to be spilling her guts all over everybody was not like her.
"Anything. Oh, I shouldn’t have mentioned it. It may turn out to be nothing."
"What might be nothing, Linda?" Dr. Linwood stuck to open-ended questions.
"The whole thing. He might not even call me back. He hasn’t yet."
"But you’d like for him to?"
Linda blushed slightly, looked down at her toes. "Sure. He’s kinda cute."
"Did you give him any reason not to call?"
"Oh no!. That is, I don’t think so. We just went out for a drink and some appetizers, and he took me home. I didn’t even ask him up."
That was a relief. The odds were greatly reduced that little Miss Round Heels hadn’t slept with him. Yet.
"Did you give him your phone number?"
"Oh, no! I forgot."
And he hadn’t asked, either. Probably nothing would come of it. Either that or they were a match made in heaven, if either could remember where they had laid it down.
"Maybe he’ll call you at work."
Linda’s face was a mixture of concern and relief. "Gee, I hope so."
"Do keep us posted." As if there were a chance she wouldn’t. "Now I have an announcement. Since our last meeting, we have confirmation Jan and Drew are expecting. Jan will deliver our first baby here at Richards of someone born a male."
That trumped all the other topics since no one was in imminent danger of suicide. Even the sisters who wanted to bonk without consequences were full of congratulations. The support group quickly turned into an educational seminar, covering the highlights of how and how long. Sam and Sandy formed a little group with Blake and me by the punch bowl.
"Isn’t it wonderful? I can hardly wait to have Sandy’s baby. Of course she’ll have to make an honest coman of me first, but I’d like to have our first baby right off."
Sandy sipped her punch and smiled. "You’re certainly built for it, Lambie-pie. With as much milk as you should produce, our children should all be fat and happy."
Sam blushed and lowered her lashes. "I’m going to breast feed, of course. How about you?"
"When the time comes."
"What about it, Blake? When are you going to put your little lady in the family way?" Sandy tended to overplay the macho role a bit, but Sam just ate it up.
"Maybe soon, now that I’ve moved out to a firm." Coy, Blake, very coy.
"No point working for peanuts, I always say. In your line, the bucks are in front of the bench, not behind it."
"Unfortunately so are the hours."
"Tell me about it, feast or famine. In between election years, I barely get enough business to keep the doors open. But next year the cash will flood in. I’m afraid, Lambie-pie, you’re going to have to put off catching the swelling belly disease until after the elections."
"When are you getting your nest, Samantha?"
"After the wedding. I still haven’t decided who to ask."
"They want you to heal for six months, unless they’ve changed that. If your wedding is in the late spring or early summer, you won’t be ready until after the elections anyway."
"Oh. I hadn’t thought about that. Would that be alright, Lover?"
Sandy patted her arm. "Sounds like a plan to me. Anything to keep my Lambie-pie happy. Within reason."
Sam beamed and clutched Sandy’s arm. All I could think was who was going to grow up faster in that household, Samantha or her children?
With the big announcement, the hour flew by. Jan and Drew were in the lounge, rinsing the punch bowl, carrying cases, and platters. Blake and I were bagging trash when Dr. Linwood stopped by. "Beautiful , as usual. Jaimie. You and Jan set quite the tone for our group. They may not say so, but the others really appreciate it, when they’re not a little envious."
I looked up and smiled. "Thank you, Doctor. Nice of you to say so."
"Call me Miriam when we’re off the clock. So tomorrow’s the big day? To find out whether I get to announce next month that you’re expecting, that is.""
I let Blake finish shoveling in the debris while I straightened up to talk. "I hope so. But we’re pretty confident. The home test said ‘Yes.’ And I had this wonderful dream."
"I hope so for you. Just remember that dreams can be wishes rather than prophecies."
"Or a bit of undercooked potato."
"So how do you feel about it? Excited? Nervous?"
"It will be nice to be official. That way I don’t have to do the procedure again."
"Did it hurt? I thought they used a topical."
"It was just a little unpleasant. Mainly I wouldn’t want to put Blake through the pain and bother of another harvest."
"So this is will be your only one?"
"No, Blake wants four. And I’m looking forward to a houseful."
"No qualms, then?"
"Not really. There were comen at ESU who had delivered. And Dr. Laney and Dr. Cordray just ooze confidence."
"No worries about being a mother?"
"One bridge at a time. Chrysalis will help. And Jan and I have our moms for advice. It’s not like ours will be the first babies ever born."
"You’ve been keeping up with your diary?"
I nodded. "Pretty much. I can usually fit in an entry at work."
"Don’t forget to bring it with you next Friday when you come in."
"I won’t."
"Where does this go, Hon?"
There’s a trash chute in the employee break room, Miz Jones."
"Right." She walked to the door, dragging the bag behind her.
"May I ask you a question, Dr. Linwood?"
"Certainly, Mrs. Jones."
"There’s this guy at my salon, he dresses full time, and he’s feeling a little lost, and I told him, her, that I would ask if he, she, could sit in on our group sometime."
"It’s really for people in our programs. It upsets the dynamics if people keep coming and going. Strangers can make people reluctant to talk. Is she interested in having SRS?"
"I think she really wants to be a coman, like Jan and me."
"Is she in a serious relationship."
"No. She’d like to be."
"I’m afraid she doesn’t fit the protocol then."
"Oh. She’ll be disappointed. But at least I asked."
"On second thought, there might be a way."
"Really?"
"If she passed the evaluation in our Gender Identification program, that’s where we get our girls, she might be accepted for partial transformation. There are no guarantees, but it’s a shot."
"Thank you. I’ll let her know her options. And Dr. Linwood?"
"Yes?"
"Do you think it would be all right if I exercised now? Like belly dancing?"
She smiled. "By now you either are or you aren’t. Just don’t go poking your abdomen. I should go."
When Blake came back, Jan and Drew were trailing behind with everything back in a box. Jan was all aglow and Drew had her arm around her shoulders.
"So how’s the expectant dam?"
Drew smiled big as she gave Jan’s shoulder a squeeze. "Happy as a clam. I just have to keep my wife happy and relaxed for the next eight months."
"Relaxed or rigid?"
Drew grinned. "First one, then the other. Let’s get a bite before we see how the show is coming along."
That afternoon we had two thirds of our sympathetic audience at practice. Afterwards we all three thought a very private showing was in order.
"It’s too bad all I have are the zhils. I want you to get the full effect."
"Any more and I’d hump the chair." Blake straddled one of our dinette chairs while she watched and critiqued my dance. "Do that full turn and hip bump move again."
"You like that? Or does it need work.?"
"Both." My face fell and Blake hurried to recover. "But not much."
I raised my arms above my head, crossing my wrists. I arched my back and cocked my right knee, my foot arched and resting on its toes. The hem of my diaphanous red teddy slipped lightly up my thigh. I turned my head to look over my shoulder. "Music, please."
Frantic drumming rolled from a tambour, leading to a repetitive phrase. With each strong beat, I lifted my hip while ringing my zhils, then stepped forward to execute a sixteenth turn. Every other step called for a shoulder roll. I swung my head so that my hair, if it were loose, would sway across my back above my bra strap. I concentrated hard, but the rolling sway of my fundament and the silken pull on my barely constrained pussy stick was terribly exciting. By the time I had finished the turn, I was beside myself with desire.
I turned around, biting my lips. "How was that?"
Blake’s contorted face was evidence enough. "Much better. You’re really starting to feel it."
I stepped forward, going down on one knee, my head bent forward, my palms on her knees. "Oh yes, Mistress. I feel it. I really do. Be kind to your little houri, Mistress. Please be kind."
Her fingers touched my top curls, her palm sliding to the side of my head. I was barely aware of the slight push against the stiff side as I turned my head to kiss her hand, my tongue tracing little circles on the palm. From the corner of my eye, I could see damp panties under the gathered hem of her skirt.
"Do you want me, Mistress? Do you want your little houri girl?"
Blake moaned. "Oh, yes, my love, I want you, need you."
"Then take me, Mistress. Let your love slave know her fate."
Blake almost sprung off the chair, reaching down to lift me to my feet. Her hands grasped my shoulders, pulling me to her. Her lips captured mine, kissing me hard, insistent. I yielded, slumped against her.
One arm slid across my shoulders, entrapping me, Her other hand slid down my body possessing me. She caressed my breast, my flank, my belly, my hips. Fingers pawed at my panty waist, tugging to free it from my sweaty skin. Violently she pulled the silky material down, stretching it away from me, warm air from her body swirling over my moist pubic nest. My pussy stick, my rod of delight, uncoiled from beneath me, growing, straightening, offering itself for her pleasure.
Her hand covered my bare buttocks, her finger nestled in my crack. Her cheek pressed against mine, crushing my curls as she held me tight, my erect horn probing the soft folds of her skirt. "I want you, Sweetcakes. I want you now."
I breathed back, "I am yours. Take me."
Her hand grasped my fingertips. She turned, almost stumbling as she led me to the bedroom. I followed meekly, eyes down, stepping around my throbbing member, eager to please her. Oh to be small enough to be swept up and carried into the room of delight, deposited on her bed and ravished!
In our bedroom, she stood still, waiting for me to undo her zipper. I pushed material off her shoulders, sliding it down her arms. My tongue paid obeisance to the softness of her skin, tasting her shoulder points, the gentle swell up to her neck. The tip swirled over her nape, working down inside her shoulder blade.
My fingers undid her snaps, peeling the damp material from her back. I reached around, prying the half-cups from her breasts, letting the sheer material fall to the floor as my hands cupped her swelling orbs.
Her head bent back as she leaned against me. "Yes, oh, yes, touch me there, do me."
I gently squeezed warm breasts, felt her nipples swell and fill my hands as I kissed my way down her spine. I kissed and nipped the tops of her roundness as my hands slid down her sides, stretching the slip band to let it fall from her waist. I turned her slowly with my hands, my lips fluttering over the ridge of her pelvis, rewarded by her moans of desire and the feel of her fingers clutching my hair.
Damp black wisps curled around the edges of the small black panel, distended by her swollen mound. My cheek felt her heat as I pressed against it. Her fingers stroked my nape and ears, pulling me tight to her. I felt her grind slowly against my cheek, the softness pulsing slowly as if to draw me into her. She turned my head. I kissed the dampness, worming my tongue against the slit hidden within. My hands grasped warm cheeks through her other sweaty panel. My thumbs hooked her band, peeling the panels from her dewy flesh. The smell of her desire flowed from her damp bush, her lips parted, her hooded head peeking from the folds.
I needed no urging, my rod stiff with desire, but her fingers pressed me forward. My lips engulfed her ruby clit, sucking it within. I slurped the honey coated tidbit, lapping at its sweetness, my chin stroking her honey hole. Dampness flowed over my chin, her heat swirling over my cheeks. My prong beat time in the warm air between her spread legs.
"Oh, yes, my sweet bitch, suck it, suck it. Make me cum, my sweet slut."
Her fingers pressed me forward, holding my nape firmly to her. My tongue lapped up and down her honey slit, sopping up the sweetness flowing from her. Her loins ground against my face, her mound pulsing, starting to shiver. My nose ground against her ruby, my tongue slithered up her slit, my mouth sucked to draw down and gather in her sweetness. Her buttocks tensed, pulsed, pushed against me. Her mound shivered out of control as her fingers dug into the back of my head.
"Yes!, Yes! I’m cumming!"
Her thighs clasped against my shoulders, her buttocks quivering beneath my grasp. Her belly shimimied above me, her engorging vagina thrusting to take me in. She shivered, shuddered, spasmed, thrust against me. My tongue shot up her, my nose rocking over her clit.
"Yes! Don’t stop, slut! I’m cum-m-ing! Uh-ah-agh!"
Her hips convulsed, her mound quaked with joy. Her fingers pushed me into her, holding me tight against her pulsating mound. Shudders racked her hips and thighs, she trembled and clasped me to her, her tremors lessening as they racked through her.
"Oh, oh, oh yes. Good, so good."
She pressed be into her as a another tremble rolled through her. She stood above me, bracing herself against me sobbing for breath. Her fingers pulled my head back as she sank to her knees. Her mouth covered mine, her tongue probing deep into me, filling me. She pulled my head back and looked into my eyes.
"Oh baby, baby, what ever did I do to deserve you?"
"Love me?"
"Oh, yes, I do love you so," she whispered before kissing me again, firmly then lighter as slack stole over her, weakening her limbs. We relaxed, slumped to the floor, our warmth pooling on the carpet. Her arms stole around me. I reached down, grasping my prick as it twitched and pulsed, aching for relief. But I lay quietly beside her, eye closed, breathing gently, preserving myself for her.
She never slept, just rubbed her cheek gently against mine, murmuring in my ear. Her nose wormed under my curls, her intakes drawing warm, pungent air over my neck.
Her eyelids fluttered, her fingertip swirled around my teat. "You’re so good to me. What can I do for you?"
"Make love to me. Screw your pregnant bitch."
"Soon, love. I’m tired now. But doggie deserves a reward."
Blake lifted my hem, parting the filmy material to pile beside my waist. Her fingers trailed down my belly , tracing around my navel, flitting over my pelvis. Nails gently scraped through my thatch, brushed the base of my root.
"Ouh-h, good doggie. What a big bone you have."
I felt the bare tip quiver in the cool air. "Does pussy-wussy want bone?"
"It shouldn’t be out like that. Might spoil." She slipped her thigh over mine. "Must stay all warm and cozy." She lifted her self up on one elbow, sliding her thigh across me. She lifted her thigh enough to guide my tip along the inside. "Want nasty old bone in warm muff?"
"Yes, oh yes."
She guided my tip to her still humid hole, teasing it through the dampness until it was moist, pulsing with desire for the closeness of her. "Nice doggie. Wag tail for mommy."
I moaned, squeezing my eyes shut, flexing my hips forward. My tip wormed through her still swollen lips, pressed against her gently pulsing tunnel mouth.
"Nice doggie. Pull mommy tight."
I reached behind, pulling her hips forward, feeling her guide my head into her crack. The warm lips spread, opening to me. The tip slipped inside, lodged behind her vulval ring.
"Oh-h, yes, nice doggie." A hand pulled my buttocks forward, sliding me deep inside her. Fingers kneaded my rump, a fingertip wormed at my crack. "Make big bone for mommy."
I shut my eyes, pulsing my balls, feeling my prick swell in response, swelling to fill her tunnel, swelling to meld with her liquid walls. I thrust, feeling her ripple over the head, squeezing my length. Her arm draped across my neck. She rolled forward, covering me, but lying off me, her swollen tit barely caressing mine.
"Mommy tired. You do."
I ran my arm under her body, pulling her to me. My chin dug into her shoulder as I rocked, pushed into her, pulled back. Her walls were like fire, warming, burning fire. My prick pulsed, then twitched. It throbbed and my balls trembled.
"Oh, no! Too soon!"
I thrust against her, sinking into her as deeply as I could, my rod, pulsing within. Her finger jabbed at my ring, her thumb pressing into my trigger spot between my cheeks. I clasped against her, tensed and shivered, felt my cum explode through me, my bottom pulsing with release.
Her eyes flew open and her fingers dug into my shoulder as I shuddered against her. "Oh! Oh-h! Oh-h-h! Jaimie!." Her mound quivered, a spasm racked through her as my hot quid shot into her.
We held each other tight, eyes closed, breathing in unison, our swollen breasts rubbing gently against each other. Fluids pooled inside her, drained, coating me, running out onto my thigh. I was hers, her willing houri, her love slave, enslaved by her love for me.
A fingernail traced my ear, soft breath floated over my skin.
"Oh, Jaimie, my love, what can I ever do to repay you?"
"Oh, Blake, mistress of my soul, make me your bitch. Spread me, split me, open and close me, make my tail wag as you impregnate me."
"You want it behind?"
I nestled my nose in her throat. "Yes. It makes me feel so small, so loved, truly your coman."
Blake pulled my head back gently, kissing my brow curls and eyes. "As you wish. Give me some time to recover, my hot, loving bitch."
We moved onto the bed, holding each other gently for awhile, basking in the glow of our loving. We were naked, atop the sheet, warm against one another, ankles intertwined. I dozed, nestled against her, safe in her arms. I woke to her smiling face bent over me, her finger tracing my face. "You still want me to, my love?"
I nodded.
"Then I will be with you in a moment. Take the doggie position when you’re ready."
She slid off the bed. I lay with eyes closed, clutching the pillow to me. I heard the drawer open, fumbling noises, the scrape of the case on wood. I sighed, content, rolled over, clutching the pillow with her smell to me. I drew my knees under me, my tail raising, warm, receptive. I buried my nose in her smell, relaxed, felt myself distend in anticipation of "Stubby."
The bed moved under her weight. Hands grasped my thighs, spreading my knees. Her fingers kneaded and spread my cheeks, opening me to her. I sighed, arched down, opened myself. Soft kisses covered my points, light nips sampled my flesh.
"Yes, oh, yes, my love. Work your will with your bitch."
Her knees spread mine, her hands parted my cheeks. I felt the hard tip slide through my crack, warm, moisten with our juices. The tip pressed against my ring, a hand spreading me, positioning me, as the other grasped my hip.
"Ready, my love?"
"Yes, oh yes." I pushed back, feeling my ring spread slightly.
She grunted, pushed the hardness past my receptive ring, sliding deep inside me, filling me.
"Yes!, Oh yes! Fill me! Fuck me!" The probe pushed against me, spread me, pumped against me. It’s pressure renewed me, bringing my tip out of its sheath. "Oh, migawd, yes! Fuck your bitch!"
Her hands grasped my hips, lifting me as she thrust into me, pulling me back onto her impaling instrument. I shook, I shivered, I moaned into the pillow under her assault. I was hers. Helplessly and completely hers, ridden into the ground, filled and made completely her own. The drill sawed in and down, stoking my fires, swelling me with desire, Tender teats ground into the pillow, my warm well pushed back against her, responding to the rhythm of her thrusts. I felt everything, the scrape of stiff curls on my nape, the molding warmth of the pillow against my breasts, the wet warmth of her loins slapping against my rear. I felt nothing, encompassed by the overwhelming passion washing over me. I was hers, we were one, my belly would swell with proof of her loving.
"Oh, yes, yes, yes! Help me Blake, please help me."
She grunted and pushed, harder, deeper, frantic thrusts tearing me apart. Then she reached around, grasped my tool, squeezed. I bucked in response, driving the tool fully within me.
"Yes, oh, yes, I’m cuming, cuming. Ai-ye-ah!"
I bucked in her grasp, small jets of milky cum spurting out my quivering tool. My tush shook, tensed as my hole clasped the warmth filling it.
I held the pillow tight, eyes squeezed tight, gasping for air. "Oh, yes, yes, so good, you’re so good to me."
Blake withdrew to let me relax, subside into the mattress. My ring twitched, missing the fullness within. I rolled onto my shoulder, drew my knees up to preserve the warmth as I waited for her presence. Soon her warmth stretched beside me, her fingers tracing my shoulder, her no longer encumbered loins nestling against my rear. "Good for you, Sugar-Bear?"
I nodded, eyes shut. "Thank you, thank you for being my dama."
Her lips kissed my ear. "Thank you, thank you for being my wife."
(continued)
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