I know you can't please everyone. But let's see if I can piss everyone off! I've decided release three parallel "next chapters" simultaneously... three alternative futures for our heroine and heroes. Hopefully they'll all pop up on Literotica at the same time. I've labeled them Blue, Orange, and Purple -- no significance other than being the opposites of Red, Yellow and Green on the color wheel, so they aren't safe words.
Some of you may well read all three of them. Just remember... whichever one you read first, that's what really happened! [Shocked face emoji!] The other two are just Ryan's future daydreams and nightmares of relief or regret...
So, choose wisely. Because Ryan can't.
John thought about putting on a pair of boxers, but then decided to assume otherwise, and got into bed naked and pulled the sheet up. He listened to the shower running in the adjoining bathroom, picturing the water and soap suds running down the delicious nude body of his daughter-in-law, who would be joining him in bed momentarily. He had showered earlier, giving his son and his wife a few minutes alone, still not sure how this day was going to end. He was pleased with the outcome.
He knew this crazy little dalliance was coming to an end, for the time being, if not forever. They had pretty much decided that on Labor Day, after their last intense weekend together, even before he knew about his transfer to Phoenix. And before she had informed him that she and Ryan were going to try to start a family.
He wondered when they were going to start trying; when she was going to stop using birth control. Or if she already had. If that was the case, he should really get up out of bed and rummage around in his dresser drawer for the box of condoms that he had never opened. But then the shower stopped running.
Certainly, the idea that Michelle might get pregnant from one of their forbidden encounters had occurred to him before. It was the whole point of sex, wasn't it? He knew that she was on birth control, but all forms of birth control had failure rates. It was something he always put out of his mind while they were together, while he was inside her.
But he had allowed himself to dwell on the possibility in the times in between. It would be so wrong. So irreversibly wrong.
Well, perhaps not irreversibly. She could always terminate an unwanted pregnancy, and it might even be the smart thing to do, even though he had never contemplated being complicit in such an act.
So in his idle daydreams and nightmares, he had allowed himself to envision what the alternatives would be. Would she carry the baby to term, let Ryan believe, or assume, that the child was his own? Certainly, inevitably, there would have to be doubt. Especially if she was telling him the truth, that she had been making Ryan wear condoms during their affair.
Or if Ryan was that deeply into this whole strange "cuckold" mindset, would his son just go on and raise the child as his own, in spite of knowing that it was in fact not only
not
his biological offspring, but his half-brother or half-sister?
Would he, John, "do the honorable thing," take Michelle away, figuratively and literally, destroy his son's marriage and start a new family with this beautiful woman, his son's ex-wife? Surely that would be the most heinous outcome imaginable. It would destroy his relationship with his son, with his other son, with every other person who knew him.
Although the notion of starting over, finding a new job (at his age?) in a new town, with this incredible and sexy younger woman on his arm, had a certain appeal. But that was an even crazier fantasy. Did he really want to be working until he was 70, raising a child through his sixties and seventies, taking that child off to college when he was eighty? No, that was insane.
Although, what he had already been doing over the past months was plenty insane, and wrong, in itself.
And then she came out of the bathroom, gloriously naked, except for the fine chain around her luscious hips. She had bathed but not washed her hair, so it fell alluringly around her lovely face, to the tops of her stately shoulders. Below that, her breasts stood round and proud, her nipples already stiffening in the centers of her coral-pink areola. And then she was climbing onto the bed, pulling back the sheet, swinging one leg over him. And he stopped thinking.
She was already wet, apparently as aroused by the situation as he was. Her husband was just on the other side of the door. Having acquiesced, submitted to what was about to happen in his father's bedroom.
Her hand was like velvet as it encircled his erection, holding it upright, teasing him with the soft curls of her pubic hair until she had situated his knob between the moist folds of her labia. Then she lowered herself onto him, scarcely muffling her familiar moan as he pushed his way up inside her.
He placed his hands on her hips and guided her as she moved up and down on him, reacquainting him with the silken grip of her vagina. Then she fell forward onto his chest and kissed him.
"Is this safe?" he had to ask.
"Probably," she murmured.
Probably?
, he thought. What did that mean? He had no idea where she was in her cycle, but surely she wasn't allowing him to take her bare if she was anywhere near ovulating.
He should stop, he thought; pull out. But he didn't. Instead, he rolled her over, to get her underneath him, where he always preferred her. He went back to thrusting into her, slowly, intently. Her legs came up around him, creating a cradle for his rocking pelvis, the way he loved. The way they belonged.
"Probably," he found himself repeating, out loud, as if spellbound, mesmerized by the suggestion of his daughter-in-law's fertility, and helpless to stop himself from pumping into her.
"Uh huh," Michelle assured him, breathlessly. "It's okay."
It's OKAY?
"I think... " she whispered, "There's a part of him... that
wants
you to be the one who gets me pregnant."
Well. That was an angle that hadn't occurred to him. He continued to move in and out, in and out, feeling the slippery sleeve of her vagina grasping him, milking him. Urging him to keep going.
"That makes two of us," he heard himself mumble out loud, shocked immediately that he had actually uttered the words. But Michelle's response was only to moan, and then emit what sounded like a little shriek of pleasure.
Or did she say, "Three"? Surely he imagined that. But he was in no condition to be clear about anything. His brain was turning off, all of it except the pleasure center, and then he was cumming, pulsing over and over again, pumping his semen deeply into his fertile daughter-in-law.
He did the same thing the next morning. She started out by climbing on top of him, sitting upright, gyrating on top of him so he could admire her, gather up her soft breasts in his hands, or seize her by the hips and manipulate her as he stirred her insides with his cock.
If this was their last time together, he thought, he should make it last, enjoy every position, every view. But something else was echoing in his head. "There's a part of Ryan," she had said last night, "That wants *you* to be the one who gets me pregnant." And there was definitely a part of him that wanted that, too.
So he rolled her over, upside down on the bed, so their heads and their voices were only five feet, not ten feet, from the door. He surrendered himself to his instincts, reaching down to draw her legs up around him, hooking his elbows behind her knees, tipping her upwards so that he was driving straight down into her. Holding her that way, for long minutes after he came, so none of his semen would leak out of her.
Just in case.
***
Sunday morning was strange. Even within the strange standards of my bizarro world.
I knew they had been intimate. Oh, who was I kidding, I knew they had
fucked
. I had heard them, last night and again this morning; my wife's erotic little muffled moans, the relentless squeaking of the bedsprings and thumping of the headboard against the wall.
Maybe they had used condoms. Maybe he had pulled out. Or... maybe Michelle had let his dad slake his lust by offering him anal sex. Huh, I thought. That was one card that Michelle had left unplayed in this dizzying game. Not like her to miss a trick like that. But, while at one time contemplating my father's fat cock stretching open my wife's tiny anal orifice would have sent me spiraling, on this morning nothing could be as erotic as the thought of him basting my wife's cervix with spurt after spurt of his sperm-laden cum.
My dad was unusually quiet. He's not exactly a loquacious raconteur, but his normal approach to conversation is to keep the ball rolling with simple, even trite little jokes and comments. This morning he seemed melancholy, naturally, but also distracted. We made some small talk about nothing. He gave short half-hearted responses to questions about Phoenix.
My plans to have a baby with Michelle didn't come up.
On the drive home, I wondered what they had talked about last night, and again this morning, before and after the lusty interactions that I *could* hear.
I did gingerly broach the subject once.
"Ryan," she responded, gently. Only slightly teasing. "You're way too obsessed with your father's sex life.
"And anyway. That's between me and my lover."
I accepted that. There are things more intimate than just fucking, I knew. And it thrilled me that she had given him that intimacy, too.
