The Surrogate

I woke to the feeling of her hand gently squeezing my erection.

In a

non sequitur

of biblical proportions, my first thought was,

"Damn, I miss the hardness of her belly against me.

Out loud I said, well, I kind of mumbled, "That's nice."

She snuggled against me, her hand even busier now, masturbating me.

"I'm sorry I went to sleep on you," she said.

I caught her hand and gently worked it loose before I turned over to face her.

"I liked that you were comfortable enough to do that," I said.

She was smiling.

"But I wanted you," she said.

I was smiling.

"And I want you, my too-skinny bride," I said.

I kissed her before she could respond.

I held her after we broke the kiss and, surprisingly, it was the kind of rough feel of that towel I had folded between her legs that almost took me over the top.

There was something about it. Knowing why I put it there was part of it, of course. But just the feel of the terrycloth material was part too.

"You are so beautiful," I said.

"If you like flab and stretch marks," she said.

Sometimes my mind is a strange place. For some reason, her response made me angry.

"Dammit, Nancy," I said, doing the grab-her-by-the-chin-with-my-thumb-and-forefinger thing, "QUIT PUTTING YOURSELF DOWN!"

Her eyes got big and I thought she was going to cry.

"NO!" I snapped, "You don't get to hide behind tears. Now LISTEN to me."

"First," I said, when she settled down and her eyes met mine, "You are beautiful. You are drop-dead gorgeous. If you'd like, we can go to Gator Bayou (our favorite clothing-optional beach) today and I'll show you off. I love for the world to see how goddam lucky I am."

She started to say something, a bit of a smile on her face now, but I shushed her with a finger to the lips.

"Second," I said, "If you keep doing that I'm going to spank that pretty ass of yours. Now that I don't have to worry about hurting the baby I won't hesitate either."

Her eyes got big at that.

"Would you really do that?" she asked.

"Which one?" I replied, "The beach or the spanking."

I talked over her aborted reply.

"Oh," I said, "it doesn't matter because it's 'yes' to both."

"God, I love you," she said.

"No more putting yourself down?" I asked.

"No," she said, "although you kinda got to me with the spanking thing."

"Try me and you'll see how serious I am," I said, "but for now, I'm starved."

She smiled, lifted her breast, and said, "Breakfast is served."

This time I latched on. This was not foreplay. This was me, feeding from her body. I began nursing.

Her milk was warm and sweet and thick and delicious. And I knew I was addicted.

After the first rush of my pure pleasure at the sensation and taste, I started exploring her new body with my hand.

She was SO soft, so warm. I couldn't get enough as I played with her belly fat and suckled at her tit.

I worked my hand under that rolled-up towel, taking my time to explore her thoroughly for the first time since the baby was born.

She even FELT different. Her labia were still swollen and distended. Those delicate inner lips hung loose and I held them in my hand, feeling that odd wetness of her postpartum discharge, struck again, even as I had the thought, by what a coarse word it was for such a beautiful thing.

With the towel pushed away a little, her scent was strong and earthy. It was like my olfactory nerves were connected directly to my

pelvic plexus

, that ganglion of nerves that made me hard. I throbbed as I inhaled deeply.

I found her clitoris, very hard, and started making little circles. I could feel the instant effect it had on her in the sudden tension of her body against me and the quick intake of breath.

I masturbated her then, taking my time, rolling that little button slowly, making her hiss a little breath every few seconds.

I realized, as I was doing it, that I was actually getting full. Her milk was flowing freely and I was drinking it greedily.

I think her orgasm surprised both of us.

I was making those slow circles and nursing. She was relaxed except for those little hissed intakes of breath every minute or so.

And suddenly my hand was full of her uterus, slick with her nectar.

She grunted and the prolapse was complete. Her uterus, still soft and stretched, filled my hand. Her scent changed too, that pheromone-laden womanscent pushing her slow postpartum discharge scent to the background.

She grunted again and I felt hot wet warmth cover my hand.

And, strangely, I felt no need to stop nursing.

I felt her start to retract, a sudden tension in her body, and released her nipple long enough to say, "No, Nancy, relax. Let me hold it. Please."

She sighed, a long, satisfied sound, and I felt her relax.

I nursed until I felt her run empty. When I released her I couldn't help but chuckle. The breast I had been feeding from was soft and empty. The other was full, her nipple dripping. God she was beautiful.

"Lay back," I said, "let me take care of you."

She laid back with a sigh and I rolled up onto my knees.

She was Gaia. She was Earth Mother. She was sex, incarnate. I just looked at her.

And she smiled this time.

"Thank you," she said.

"For what?" I asked.

"For making me believe that I'm beautiful," she said.

I smiled then, and let my hands roam where they would.

I caressed her face, gently brushing imaginary hairs from her forehead, lightly brushing her eyelids, and tracing her lips with my fingertips.

I wanted to know EVERYTHING about her so I probed her nostril with my little finger, making her giggle and go, "Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwww."

I played with the second and third chins, with that soft roll at her upper arms, and with her pudgy fingers. Her breath caught as I started taking each finger into my mouth, sucking it gently, loving the odd feeling of the softness that surrounded the strength of her hands.

Then I worked my way down her body, squeezing and jiggling her belly apron, spreading now that she was on her back, and then down further.

Her uterus was already changing. Yesterday, immediately after the birth, it looked like a deflated pink football. Now it was starting to look more like the pear that a uterus is always described as. Oh, it was an oversized pear, wrinkled and soft, but the shape was there.

It was covered in her thick, milky love honey, looking almost like someone had smeared yogurt or maybe mayonnaise on it. And from that beautiful portal to her womb, her cervix, that brownish discharge leaked,

It was almost a compulsion to bend down and kiss it. It was salty and oily and I loved it.

I moved around so my knees were between hers, and lifted her womb so I could see her cervix. It looked like a tiny mouth so I bent and kissed it.

That scent was SO strong it almost overwhelmed me.

But I liked it.

I touched where she leaked, unable to resist tasting her. There was the coppery taste of blood, the salty, oily taste of mucus, and a faint undertaste, very bitter, almost medicinal, that I assumed was the hormones with which her body was still flooded.

I held it and massaged it very gently, and she writhed.

"Am I hurting you?" I asked.

"Not hurting," she said, "but the sensation is SO intense."

"Do you want me to stop?" I asked, very gently pulling, running my fingers down it almost like I was milking a cow's udder.

"Yes. No. God, Jesus, I don't know," she said, squirming.

"Tell me what you want," I said.

She laughed softly.

"Fuck me, Honey," she said, "I need that."

I released her and her uterus, like a prairie dog in one of those outdoor shows you see on television, just disappeared it retreated so fast.

And I was on her and in her just like that.

"Relax," I said, "this is how I want you. Stretched and loose like a mother who just gave birth."

She giggled.

"Fuck me, David, please, but not too hard," she said.

I kissed her and set up a slow, easy rhythm.

"Oh, Jesus," she breathed.

A line from that TV series

Nip/Tuck

ran through my mind. One of the character's mother, I forget which one, she was played by Vanessa Redgrave, was getting a vaginoplasty, a vaginal reconstruction. When asked why she said, "Nobody wants to have sex with a glass of warm water."

I discovered she was wrong.

This was the best sex I ever had and it was precisely like having sex with a glass of warm water. She was so loose there was no friction at all. I was just surrounded by warmth and wetness.

I was covering her face with kisses, telling her how beautiful she was, how much I loved her, and how good this felt when I realized she was crying. Well, that's not quite true. She wasn't bawling or sobbing, but she was definitely crying, tears running down her cheeks. And her nose was running. The kisses on her mouth were slick and salty now and I liked them.

"Postpartum crazies?" I asked, my tongue tracing the shell of her ear, knowing each word would be a little puff in her ear.

She chuckled, a deep sound coming from low in her belly.

"Postpartum crazy, yes," she said, "but postpartum crazy, stupid, head-over-heels in love, baby."

I covered her face with kisses, keeping up that slow, gentle rhythm. This was truly making love. It was beyond simple sex. It wasn't just our bodies that were joined. I knew she would be my only. This was too perfect to even imagine anything better.

"I think," I said, deliberately trying to break the intensity a little, as I captured her right hand in my left and pushed her arms straight up over her head and then licked her armpit, "that I'm going to throw away your razor."

She giggled at that.

"Am I to be your natural girl then?" she asked.

"Ohhhhhhhhhh, yes," I said, "and if you even THINK about dieting you're going to learn just how serious I am about that spanking."

She giggled and shook her head.

"As you wish, my love," she said, not sounding odd at all even with the sort of strange, archaic words.

Strangely, it didn't seem strange to be talking to her even as our bodies were joined.

When I pulled out she whimpered, "Babyyyyyyyyyyy."

I smiled and moved so I was beside her.

"You on top," I said, "I want to feel your weight and your warmth and your softness."

She moved then, not as ponderous as she had been with the baby in there, but still awkward after yesterday, swung a leg over me so she straddled my hips, reached down to guide me, and then slowly settled, impaling herself on my erection.

She bent forward slowly, supporting herself on her arms, her belly laying against me first and then her breasts, the one I had fed at still soft and empty, the other almost hard it was so engorged.

It was a slow movement, and I felt her weight slowly pressing down.

My body surprised me.

As I felt her belly, so soft now, spreading as she moved forward, feeling like I was being enfolded into her, I came.

I gasped my release, and it was powerful. I felt my body clench, those muscles deep in my belly contracted, sending my semen deep into her.

Her eyes were big as she looked down at me.

"Oh, my," she breathed, "that was a surprise."

I chuckled.

"Yes it was," I said.

She started to move, to roll off of me but I caught her.

"No," I said, "let me have your weight."

She giggled very softly and then relaxed.

"Pervert," she breathed into my ear.

"Just a lucky man," I said, "in love with my wife."

My hands were moving now, feeling how soft her back was, saying a quick thank you to Evolution for giving her those fat pads where she stored her reserves to be tapped at need.

"I'm so lucky," she said.

"I'm the lucky one," I said.

I was squeezing that big pad high on her back, enjoying her soft little moans as I did, when I felt sudden wetness against my chest.

I realized that the pressure in the breast I had not nursed had become too great and she was leaking.

She squirmed and said, "I'm sorry, Baby."

I laughed, pulled her down against me, and said, "I" 'm not."