Including Me

I held my hand to my tummy as I lay on my side, feeling the life growing in there stirring along with me as the morning light peered into the room, creeping through the curtains to explore the walls here and there as I opened my eyes a hint, shut them again to sleep some more.

A hand wound over my hip, brushed my distended belly. Pushed my top leg forward slightly, slid back over it to rub at my vulva, then forward to my clitoris. Dallying there, exciting it, before reversing back to my entrance. My body responded with a welcoming wetness, lubricating against the dancing finger.

The finger penetrated me and I answered with a happy sigh, my muscles contracting eagerly in response to the contact. The hand withdrew, lifting across my pregnant midriff and over my breasts, my neck. Arriving at my mouth, teasing me with my flavour, my essence. My tongue darted out and licked at the finger. My lips followed and drew it into my mouth, embracing the taste, loving the finger, enjoying the gift it delivered.

Now he was turning me, manipulating me and I was only too happy to position myself in any way required. I would make him aware of any discomfort owing to my condition, I knew he expected this of me. But ultimate control belonged to him. Half rolled forward onto the round protrusion at my front, I was exposed to him from behind and he climbed over me, holding up his weight but clamping his chest to my back as his penis sank into me and I moaned and cooed my delight.

I was very sensitive and I squeezed on him, pulled him into me with pleasure, whimpered as he sank deep inside of me. Filled up the empty space outside my cervix, just as his daughter filled the space inside it and I revelled at having both of them inside me.

He held my left hand with his left, against my stomach, holding with purchase as he rested his full length inside me, fitting perfectly, his hips spooning my buttocks. The gold bands sat side by side on our ring fingers, my delicate, feminine wedding ring dominated by his thick, masculine adornment.

He breathed by my ear, breathed his love for me and pressed his lips to my cheek, to my neck. I pressed my hips backward onto him, demonstrated my accedence, my belonging. He took me slowly, with tiny bucking motions, softly raising the level of the joy washing through me, surging. He pressed his hand to my bump and my husband was holding both of us, me and his daughter together, in his embrace as he made love to me.

His daughter. Our daughter. My granddaughter, too. And also his sister. And my niece and his aunt, although he had no knowledge of this last point. He'd never once asked about his father and I'd never spoken of him. It was unimportant now, all that mattered was his baby girl growing inside me, and his son, asleep in the next room. And that he was my husband, my son, my owner. The King of my life.

He had wanted children and it was not with my agreement. It wasn't my choice, it was my obligation to provide them for him. Fulfilling that obligation filled me with elation. Would two be sufficient? Would he command me to bear a third? I'd give him anything he wanted. I had no boundaries where my son was concerned, and that included having as many children as he saw fit. I'd have ten if he wanted, and my ability to create life lasted long enough.

He was reaching a wonderful stride now, our bodies moving only gently as he squeezed his hips at me, holding deep inside me and rutting with firm, controlled strokes. He reached up to lift my chin towards him and he clamped his mouth over mine side, our tongues reaching out to each other, dancing with each other, swirling, sucking, swopping saliva and he rubbed our hands together in circles over my belly and we loved each other so deeply and I belonged to my son.

My son who'd filled out into such a big, strong man that I thought he was the most gorgeous man who'd ever lived and how could anyone have ever been happier than I was as we kissed and ground and shared in joy together and adored each other and minutes passed and we kissed and ground and loved each other and minutes passed and the fire burned fiercely and still we kissed and sucked and he made love to me and minutes passed and I'd built up so slowly to a climax that when it came it just seemed to keep going and I was inside bliss and I cried and kissed and loved him.

And at last he told me he was ready and I relaxed, knowing what he wanted to do. Relaxed as he gently, lovingly, withdrew himself, extracted himself from inside me. Pulled back and rose up above me onto his knees, and I turned onto my back and my big baby bump on top. I relaxed and watched and adored him as he used his right hand to bring that beautiful penis to conclusion. Used his left hand against my belly to catch all of that come at the top of my bump, a thick, liquidy load that immediately started running off in different directions.

He used both hands to swirl around the sides of the bump, catching his running come and massaging it over and around the whole protrusion. Now it was a sticky layer, clinging to my skin. He continued to massage it around and over, over and around. I lay with a smile and with doting eyes, letting him perform this ritual, this ceremony. Enjoying the sensation, submitting to the vision as he rubbed his love into my body. And after a few minutes his come began to dry and a minute or two later his dry hands were running over and around my dry belly and he'd massaged all of his come into my skin.

He'd done this since he took possession of me, on occasion. Sometimes my stomach or my breasts, sometimes my neck and face, sometimes my lower back and buttocks. There wasn't a part of me that hadn't had this treatment at some stage. While I was pregnant, especially the more I showed, he'd favour my belly heavily. He still liked me to drink it, and by no means did he cease to come inside my vagina, but he'd made sure to cover the baby bump a couple of times a week at least.

I'd fallen pregnant with his son quickly, about four months into our new relationship. He'd barely started on his degree course when I found out, and he was thrilled from the start. He'd already stated on previous occasions that he was hoping to hear that my period was late and that we should buy a pregnancy test. I'm glad he didn't have to wait long for it to come to pass. Our wedding took place the weekend after his school finished and when we returned from our honeymoon he moved in to the master bedroom and that was that.

He quickly got used to the fact that he could have me whenever he wanted me. We made love just about every day and night on our honeymoon, he was insatiable. We'd sunbathe on the beach, eat at romantic restaurants. I delighted in being openly in love with my son every moment, not that we advertised our family connection to anyone of course. Whenever we returned to our hotel room whether we'd been to the beach, to dinner, for breakfast, it was a good bet he'd be inside me within a minute or two of the door shutting, and maybe much sooner.

He might slowly take my clothes off, lay me on the bed before stripping himself and laying on top of me; he might push me to my knees the moment we were through the door, expecting me to fish him out of his shorts and take him in my mouth, and in that expectation he was never disappointed. He might take me out onto that private balcony and we'd face out into the moonlight, him holding me from behind and kissing my neck before pulling up the hem of my short skirt and holding a hand over my mouth to quiet my moan as he injected himself into me.

Sometimes we were quieter. Sometimes our kiss wouldn't break almost the whole way through our making love. Sometimes we'd gaze into each other's eyes. Sometimes I'd lift my legs and place my heels on his buttocks and press him into me. Sometimes he'd turn me onto my front and lie on my back and I'd widen my legs to provide him with unhindered access to me. And then that occasion came that, drawing his unspent penis from my sopping pussy, he tried to position himself against my anus. I hadn't known whether he was likely to do so, but I knew that he would be allowed access anywhere he desired.

Perhaps predictably though, he struggled to gain entry. Pre-empting any doubt on his part, I suggested that it was likely to be too tight for him to easily penetrate as I had never been taken there, and that if he wished I could pursue steps to train myself to allow him to use me in that way. It would take some time and then we might still need to try a number of times before we'd be successful. He instructed me to go ahead with that training and we'd try again when I had made sufficient progress. Returned to my pussy and quickly brought me to a powerful climax as I thought about surrendering my anal virginity to my son.

We were inseparable all summer. We'd run together, shower and bathe together, eat together, shop together, go out for coffee, to the movies, to the park, on day trips here and there. I'd taken as much leave as I could from work, and it was heaven. From taking formal possession of me and having already trained me in all kinds of cute little ways, he began to test his power over me and assert his dominance further. Still in relatively lighthearted ways, like my dog training.

The command, "sit" became my instruction to drop to my knees, usually to perform fellatio. Sometimes he used commands simply to practise, or to demonstrate his authority. "Come", whatever I was doing I would come to him, and stand to attention before him, awaiting his command. "Beg" was a fun one, it gave me license to beg him for his cock, pleading with words and body language to have access to it.

It all started with "fetch", because after we returned home from our Honeymoon I purchased some sex toys in order to train myself for anal sex, and the fetch command came to mean, go get my toys! And lube and a towel, because after the first few times I'd shown him how to do my training and I'd go get those things and put them beside him and lay over his lap. And he'd lubricate his finger and push it up against my hole and tell me to relax, and I'd try my best.

And he'd pop that finger in, just the tip, then up to the knuckle. Then in and out a few times. Then he'd use his other hand to add some more lube to where his finger penetrated me, and rub it around. Then add a second finger. Pump in and out a few times. When I was so prepared his fingers came out and he'd have one of my toys lubed and ready. He'd take his time easing a dildo into me. Initially the pain made progress slow, I found it took about a minute for me to adjust to the girth of the toy and the pain would subside thereafter and I could enjoy it.

Then over time the pain went away more quickly and it was less anyway and before long there was no more than a little discomfort that passed quickly and that I came to like anyway. After pumping me with the dildo for a while he'd pop one of the plugs in and I'd spend the rest of the day or until he instructed with the toy inside me. As we made progress he used toys with thicker girth and I was getting comfortable going straight away with one that wasn't too different in size to my son when fully erect.

One day he called me to come, I'd been cleaning up in the kitchen and my heart did a little skip and a jump as it usually did when he was somewhere else and I heard his voice, especially when it was commanding me to come to him. He had a gift for me and as I stood attentively he brought his arms from behind his back, holding a collar in one hand and a lead in the other! My cheeks must have flushed and I let out the littlest gasp. He used his command for me to sit and without thinking I dropped to my knees and gazed at his crotch.

He told me to pull my hair into a ponytail, and when I did so he affixed the collar. It had a felt lining and so it wasn't too uncomfortable even though he did pull it tightly, but my breathing wasn't restricted. On confirming the fit he removed the collar and gave it to me along with the lead. He taught me that when I heard him call walkies, I was to come to him with my collar and lead. Only my collar and lead. I was to be otherwise naked. He would affix my collar and lead and proceed as per his desires.

Before the summer was out we'd progressed from using the toys alone to "practising" with him. He'd done his research and it showed. After a couple of tries he found his feet and for the first time I felt my hole stretched by a hard, hot cock. My son's cock, taking my virginity. Claiming this hole as his own, as he had my others. He wasn't inside for long before he pulled back out and it was "walkies" - he wanted me in my collar and lead and I fetched them and sat as he attached them to me before returning to my previous pose.

Dressed as his bitch I shuddered as my son's cock penetrated me again, now sinking deep inside my bowels. This was going to be no love making session and he ground himself into me as he pulled the lead taut, gently but enough that I could feel that he had me in his control.

My knees on the sofa, my hands on the back cushion, he pumped into me. I whimpered at the glory of giving up my last entrance to my King. The mechanical rhythm built in intensity and he wrapped the lead around his hand a few times so it was close to my neck; grabbed a handful of my hair and pushed my head side on onto the top of the cushion. It was a little uncomfortable but that only resonated with the discomfort of being anally fucked and it turned me on. He increased his pace and I was the definition of a bitch in heat, whimpering and whining and keening for my son to fill my bowels with his semen.

I was losing control, asking him, pleading him to fuck me, to cum in me, to cum in his bitch, I wanted to be his bitch so badly in that moment. And he was responding to that, showing me he wanted that too. Horny bitch, he was grunting, cock hungry bitch. Those words! My ass squeezed at his cock, my hips rocked, I cried out, yes! Please cock! Please, cum!

And when he asked me, was I his cum whore, I climaxed at that moment, the sparks flew in my eyes, my cheek pressed into the cushion and my passage full of his pumping cock, blood rushed around my groin, my pussy exploded and I cried out to him yes, yes please I'm your cum whore, please, please... and he kept going through that high; good girl, he grunted, good little whore and I came and came in waves, until at last he spilled over, spent himself into me, collapsing onto me, he was on me and in me and we were hot and sweaty and kissing and he was holding me tightly and no words now, just lust and love and sweat and holding while the heat of our passion coursed through us.

So it was that when we packed up at the end of the summer, ready to move to our new home in proximity to university, I wore three special items of jewellery. My wedding ring of course, was one. I was his wife and we each wore wedding rings as any husband and wife would. I now also wore an eternity collar, which he'd locked around my neck at the end of August, demonstrating that I was his property.

Then he'd looked into my eyes and called walkies. I smirked and dutifully trotted off to the front hall, undressed and returned with my collar and lead. He'd attached them, my dog collar sitting nice and flush with my new eternity collar. Then he'd produced a beautiful gold anklet, a simple, elegant chain design, and given me the command to sit. Now on my knees he'd commanded me to beg and I alternated my gaze between his crotch and his eyes, whining and straining my neck forward to get my nose close to his groin, sniffing at it and flicking out tiny licks of my tongue, nuzzling my nose at his growing bulge and pawing at his thighs with my fingers as if to encourage his trousers to go down.

He didn't undo his belt or unzip his jeans, even when I began to whisper in between whines, please, please may I, please cock, please. Then he nudged my chin with the crook of his finger to indicate I should meet his gaze, his warm, loving, beautiful gaze, and he gave me his little, knowing smile that I loved so much. And he told me that this piece, the anklet, this is what whores wear.

My pussy moistened, but for some reason my heart also ached at those words, and I smiled at him. A confusing mix of emotions but there was only one I specifically needed to convey. I nodded and agreed, yes I accept that I am a whore. He went round behind me and attached the jewellery to my left ankle. And I hoped he'd fuck me but he told me to get dressed, he wanted to take his wife out for a romantic meal. Though he did make love to me that night and I can hardly know that I got pregnant that time in particular, but I like to imagine I did and my period didn't come and I was confirmed pregnant with my son's baby shortly after.

His excitement over fathering a child on me had been evident from the start. He was single minded about it, completely sure of himself, and yet his self control was still astonishing. He'd taken possession of me on his birthday. He'd told me straight away that I was going to be his wife, and I hadn't expected that at all. He'd removed my last item of clothing and taken his place formally as the man of the house, the master of my life and everything in it.

And it made sense to me that the first thing he'd want to do was to claim my body, to use it in the most fundamental way, to have sex with me. It would have been a natural progression from when I'd jumped into bed with him that morning and fawned over him, given him his first taste of crossing the line and initiated a relationship between us beyond that which would generally be seen as acceptable for close family members to engage in.

We hadn't been naked that morning. We hadn't done more than kiss and hold each other really, although certainly it was overtly sexual holding. With my encouragement he'd touched me in a way that couldn't be mistaken, I'd humped at him and we were both heavily aroused, no doubt of it. So when he took possession of me later that day, and I was naked and confirmed as a piece of property, with the candles, music, atmosphere all set; of course he'd make love to me and that would complete the process of taking ownership of me. Right?

Only my charming prince had other ideas. That process wouldn't be over quickly. And he wasn't content with simple, contractual, property. True, that would be a key part of our future. But he wanted a closer bond. He wanted me to be his wife. He wanted me to bear his children. He wanted us to have a family together. He wanted a soul mate. In fact, we already were soul mates, we always had been. Maybe I'd engineered it, maybe the universe had ordained it, either way that's how it was. His passion for me was a reflection of mine for him, and now the time had arrived for that passion's flower to bloom.

"Marry me." He'd said. And he'd pulled at the bows he was holding, and my fingers over his pulled with him and the simple white bikini briefs had dropped away, falling to the ground, and with them went any semblance of my authority as a mother, any limit to the level to which I would submit before my King. My life was now a part of his estate.

And then he'd half turned, and, taking my hand, led me as if in dance to move in tiny steps around so that I was facing him again, now side on to the mirrored wardrobe doors. Nudged my chin with his hand so that I looked up into his eyes and we stood, gazing into one another's souls, connecting, searching, lost inside each other. Then he took my right hand in his left, led me gently across him so that I turned towards the mirrors, moved in front of him and we were both looking at our own reflection.

Still holding my hand his left looped up and over my head, and then back down in front of me, past my breast, so now we were both looking at us both in the mirror, me in front of him, slightly off to the left, his left arm around my side, my right arm folded across my stomach, our hands held there. And his right arm moved across and pulled my left hand up so that he was holding me with both arms, he fully clothed in his beautiful suit, me completely naked. And he'd whispered, soothingly, gently into my right ear.