I blame Adrien Brody.
Friday, for a change, I spend the night at home and fall asleep next to my wife. As usual, Fort Susan is on lockdown, but it's nice to have what passes for a normal evening.
Saturday begins while it's still dark outside. I'm having a wonderful dream, all warm and snuggly, of Susan and I making love. "There's my big boy... give me all your loving..." she whispers. I'm throbbing and there's a slick wet sound. My climax is starting to build up... and that wakes me fully. Susan is rolled over to face me in bed, fully clothed. The specimen jar is there between us, the lid off next to it. Her hand, which I dimly perceive is wrapped in a blue latex surgical glove, is tugging on my dick. She's trying to coax my cum into the cup? Should I let her do this? I sit up with a start. With a look of "Drat, foiled again", she scoops up the jar and lid and heads to the bathroom to clean herself up.
When I wake again, Saturday has morphed into a spectacular day, all shiny and warm. The kind of day that almost demands you go out and do things. My phone chimes to tell me exactly what that is, too: I need to help Mary take a pregnancy test. I tell Susan that Mary needs help shifting some furniture and drag myself down to her place. If I had to pick a movie right then, it would have been
Dead Man Walking
. I am not betting on a negative test.
I pass Peter and Belle's place; they've gone for the weekend to see her mother, no doubt seeking to thrill her with the promise of grandchildren. Levon and Lakeisha's place is still dark. I reach Mary's house.
I didn't have to knock on her door: she's waiting to conduct me inside, wearing only a shapeless muumuu-like dress that barely hides her flabby knees. Her hair is down, looking a bit unkempt this morning, but her spirits are up. Her body jiggles and shakes all over as she giggles "Ooh... ooh... I can't wait. Get in here."
I follow behind her, staring at her feet as she ascends the stairs. Her toenails are thick and her feet are heavily calloused. Her ankles are thick and the skin is unwholesomely pale. We go through to the bedroom and she heads into the adjoining bathroom.
The officer presiding reads my execution warrant: "I've read the instructions carefully. The best time to test is with the first urination in the morning. And let me tell you, I really need to go. I'm holding it for you, baby, and you're keeping me waiting." She pulls the muumuu over her head, and it whirls to the ground like a vast circus tent. Buck naked, she straddles her bloated thighs over the white porcelain of the toilet. With one hand, she produces the test and holds it out to me.
"I want you to hold it, daddy." I squat on the balls of my feet before her, between her widely parted thighs, as she jiggles her thick ass on her throne. I maneuver the test down in front of her furry mound. Her piss shoots out in a rush, accompanied by the stench of hot urine. I get the uncovered end of the test into the torrent. She grins with delight at my discomfort (and probably her own relief). I can feel the pee splattering from the bowl onto my hand. I draw out the test as she finishes going and look at it. I can see the white liner material of the test soaking up the liquid, the discoloration from the wetness creeps slowly upwards into the test area.
Some tests are blue lines or plus symbols. Some are digital. This one is red. Immediately there is one red line--the control that shows that the test is working. For a moment there is just one line. Just one. Just one. C'mon, just one thin red line. Then, bashfully, a faint pinkish line starts to appear next to it.
"What does it say, daddy?"
"It says you need to lay off the white wine, eat more leafy greens, and get plenty of bed rest." I turn the test so she can see it. My stomach falls to the floor while her smile soars. Mary shrieks, reaches out her arms, and crushes my head against belly, one that will soon sag with the weight of our child. She's gabbling happily, but not a single word registers for a minute.
"You want this, don't you daddy? I know you must. How long until we can be together always, daddy?" These words finally snap me out of my shock.
"Can it be our little secret for now? We should wait for the tests and stuff before we tell people," I suggest. I'm still kneeling in front of her, and, looking up into her eyes, her naked bulk looming before me.
"I know we should be patient, but I want to tell people soon. Our baby is going to need a daddy," she says, affecting a little girl voice. She reaches her mouth down, her lips groping for a reassuring kiss. They move hungrily, her wet tongue probing for mine.
"And mommy had needs that have to get met," she adds, with a drill sergeant's steely cadence. I come up out of the crouch and return her kiss.
Her hands steer me backwards, searching for her bed. I feel the mattress snug up behind my knees, the sheets and comforter already on the floor around my ankles. She pushes me back with her body while her hands claw at my pants. Her foot holds them down as she sits me down, so that I can pull my feet free.
I pull myself deeper into the bed, making room for her. Her onslaught has me embarrassingly hard. The bed sags and buckles under her as she knees her way onto the mattress. First one mighty thigh to my left, then, straddling me, rolling back as her other thigh lifts her from the floor. Her huge weight presses me down as the box spring groans from the pressure. I kiss her again, letting one hand feel for her sex. Her inner lips are thick and meaty, dangling open between her fat out labia. My finger traces the gap between them. Those lips are hot and I feel the slickness of her desire between them. I can feel her hole waiting in there, wanting to be filled.
She contorts to bring those lips close to my body, looking for a much bigger finger to plug the gap. Up and back, she smears her juices on my lower body. Her mound is covered in wetness, her womb sopping with arousal. She reaches down with one hand to adjust my angle. With a slurp her greedy womb sucks me in. I grab her sloppy breasts and hang on as she whips her pelvis into a frenzy. The bedsprings throb rhythmically, in time with the base drum of the bed striking the wall and the high-hat cymbal squish-squish-squishing from her gushing vagina. I put my hands on her hips, poking my drumstick harder on her instrument. Her body shakes with every thrust, her voice lifting in wordless song. I join in a duet. I let that symphony overwhelm me, let her milk me, let my balls tighten until I force myself up hard, let her take the short herky-jerky twitches of cream jetting into her.
After that, we're listening to the silence left behind, her breath panting in my ear by where she collapsed onto the bed. We rest that way for a long while.
