Oedipus Was Right Ch. 05

Asian

Chapter Five

I woke slowly, aware of the big, soft arm laying across my chest. The air was thick with the scent of our sex, semen, and sweat, and her pure womanscent. I was instantly hard. But I felt no urgency to have her.

I used my fingertips to trace the stretch marks on her upper arm, so soft and sexy. I turned my head and her face was truly beautiful as she was relaxed in sleep. I even found the little line of drool connecting the corner of her mouth to the pillow, and the three chins under her mouth, sexy.

And it hit me, suddenly, that I was in love with two women. I didn’t want to just fuck Stephanie, I wanted to love her. To make love TO her. To have her. And yet I wanted mom just as badly.

I ran my hands over the side of her belly, captivated by the feeling of the stretch marks on her tight skin. I didn’t want to wake her, but I couldn’t resist touching her. I was exploring with my hands, while my eyes stayed on her face. Her tongue flicked out and wet her lips and her eyes fluttered open.

And she rolled away from me, quickly, rolling off the bed and heading for the bathroom.

She was giggling and said, over her shoulder, “Be right back, baby, but if I don’t pee then it’s going to get REAL messy REAL quick.”

So I followed her, enjoying the way her big ass swung.

As she sat and looked at me, expectantly, I smiled and kissed her.

“After last night you’re going to get modest?” I asked, smiling and bending to kiss her again.

I waited her out. She sighed and I heard that distinctive hissing sound of a woman peeing. I kissed her again.

When she finished I pulled off a couple of feet of toilet paper and folded it into a pad, and reached under her belly to wipe her.

She giggled and said, “Okay, now that’s a first.”

I chuckled and kept wiping when I felt something rolling against her skin.

I dropped the paper and reached to touch it.

“What the hell?” I asked quietly. It seemed to be a rubber tube.

“Oh shit,” she said and she was blushing.

“What?” I asked.

“Take me back to bed, Davey,” she said, “and I’ll tell you.”

So I helped her stand, we washed our hands side by side, and then back to bed.

“Be right back,” she said and then headed back to the bathroom. I heard water running and in a couple of minutes, she was back with a bottle of water and a big syringe. She set the water and syringe carefully on the bedside table and crawled into bed next to me.

“We planned on telling you later today anyway,” she said.

“Telling me?” I asked.

“David,” she said, “I’m not really pregnant. This,” and she rubbed across her grandbetting yeni giriş belly, “is a baby-shaped balloon and we pump it up through that little tube you found.”

I couldn’t think of anything to say, so, for a wonder, I said nothing.

“Would you like to add a half pound to the baby?” she asked.

I was still processing but managed a “sure.”

She giggled and said, “I can’t reach honey, but you fill the syringe, hook it to the tube, and press.” She giggled again and added, “It’s not rocket surgery or brain science.”

So I looked at the syringe. A bit oversized, it was marked in ml which I took to be milliliters. I later found out that 100 milliliters, the maximum in the syringe equaled about four ounces in weight.

She laid back and pulled her knees up, exposing herself. I was fascinated, as I had been last night, by the way her full uterus pushed things out. And there it was, a little pink tube. I wondered for a moment how she had hidden it last night.

“Go ahead, honey,” she said.

I dipped the tip of the syringe into the glass she had brought in and pulled the plunger filling it.

My fingers were trembling a bit as I worked out how the little bayonet attachment worked. I got it figured out, though, and when I pushed the plunger I was surprised at how much resistance there was. When the plunger was all the way home, I filled it again.

And again.

And again.

After the fourth time, after I had added about a pound to the “baby,” she touched my hand and said, “let me rest honey.”

So I put the syringe in the glass and the glass on the nightstand and laid down next to her, my fingers light on her belly, thinking it was even harder than last night.

“Tell me what happened,” I said softly, finding her eyes with mine.

She smiled and said, softly, “it was late, honey. Just late. We tried. God, I wanted to give Greg a baby.” She giggled. “God knows we tried, but it just didn’t take, you know?”

She took a deep breath.

“So we did the fertility clinic thing,” she said. “And I got this,” she reached with two fingers and tugged on the fat under her chin, “and this,” she lifted her arm and wobbled the fat under her upper arms, “and these,” she lifted her breasts and let them flop, milk leaking, “but I just couldn’t seem to get this,” she rubbed her belly.

She closed her eyes and I could see movement under her eyelids as she thought, and organized her thoughts.

“The hormones had my breasts full,” she giggled and added, “Christ, I was buying new bras every month, and I was always horny.”

Another long pause while she thought.

She grandbetting giriş giggled.

“I have no idea where Greg found the, well, the baby,” she said, “but that first time, when he put me into the stirrups and put it in me, Jesus, I was hooked.”

“Then, the first time he put me into labor, David, while I was lying there, screaming, begging for it to stop,” she paused and took a deep breath, “I never felt more perfectly female, more utterly feminine, than right then.”

She rolled up onto her side and touched me on the cheek.

“Am I making any sense at all?” she asked.

I chuckled.

“In a weird, perverted, kinky, wonderful, way,” I said.

She giggled and in the strangely quick way she showed once in a while, she pushed me onto my back and straddled me, surrounding me with her warmth.

“Greg intends to put me into labor today,” she said, “and I want you and Mary here.”

I laughed, caught her hands in mine, and said, “wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Davey,” she said, smiling down at me, “what we have is wonderful, Greg and Mary and me. Will you join us?”

I laughed and said, “I think we’re pretty well joined right now.”

She giggled and wiggled. “As we should be.”

She bent forward, her arms straight, supporting herself, her milk warm on my chest.

“Fair warning,” she said, “it’s not pretty when I’m in labor. I’ll laugh and cry, scream, say bad things about you. But God help me, I’ll be female and feminine and loved. Please, honey, tell me you’ll be part of it.”

“I’ll be honored,” I said.

She didn’t say anything else then. She just set up a rhythm, slow and sensuous, from the waist up she was holding perfectly still but from the waist down she was pure sex.

“Don’t move, baby,” she said.

So I didn’t.

She grunted, very low in her throat, as she came the first time, but she didn’t change her rhythm.

I loved watching her as she took her pleasure in the classic cowgirl position. Her breasts swayed and leaked, the softness of her hips and thighs jiggled, her chins sort of flapped as her rhythm got more aggressive.

Her second orgasm struck suddenly, her entire body going rigid, her head thrown back, that wonderful mass of blonde hair hanging down her back, her mouth was open in an almost silent scream, just a high-pitched whistling sound. I wanted to reach up and wrap my fingers in her hair, make her cry out but I couldn’t reach.

As soon as the tension left her body her hips started again. She was sweating now, her body a sheen, her nipples running, her nose running, her breath in shuddering little grandbetting güvenilirmi gasps. She was beautiful.

With the third orgasm, she sort of collapsed, bending down, her belly pushing down on me.

And now I COULD reach, so my fingers wrapped in her hair and twisted, making her cry out.

And giving her her fourth orgasm.

She was silent as her pussy clenched, almost pulling me in. Her mouth latched onto my throat like a damn vampire and I LIKED it. I pulled, no, I YANKED on her hair, and she bit, making me yell.

I raked my nails up her back, hard, deliberately scratching, making her release my neck to throw her head back and cry out.

And then it was my turn to strike. I bent my neck and covered the thick muscles at her neck with my mouth and bit down making her yell and cum again, very liquid this time, soaking my balls and thighs.

“Cum for me, baby,” she panted, “please, baby, cum for me, fill me up.”

I slapped her ass, both hands, trying for right where she sat, as hard as I could given the awkward position. She yelped and came again, but she was tiring now, none of those spectacular contractions.

“Make me cum,” I said, my own breathing a little ragged, “get that ass moving,” and I slapped it again.

She lifted herself onto her arms, her big boobs dribbling onto my chest, and got her hips moving again, gasping and grunting with each thrust, obviously tired.

“Cum for me,” grunt, thrust.

“Cum for me,” grunt, gasp, thrust.

“Cum for me,” grunt, gasp, thrust.

“Please, PLEASE, baby, cum for me, fill me up, PLEEAAASSSE,” she finished on a rising note and I surrendered my control.

My ejaculation was hard and strong.

She settled onto me, her breathing a bubbly, and she sort of coughed, spraying me with saliva and mucus.

“Thank you,” she said, “Oh honey, thank you.”

When she relaxed onto me her weight was an erotic pressure. I welcomed it, my hands on her back now, caressing, being gentle, whispering “I love you.”

Eventually, I softened and slipped out with an audible little splashing sound, and she rolled off of me.

She was even more beautiful than usual like that. Her face was flushed, her breathing still a little ragged, hair a mess, nipples dribbling. She was the epitome of a female right then. I wanted to nurse, but I was more interested, right then, in her faux baby.

“Can I add some more to your baby?” I asked.

She took my hand and laid it on her belly. Her skin was tight. Actually, her skin was impossibly tight.

“Another time, honey,” she said and I thought I could hear real regret in her voice, “but this is to be a birthing weekend and my body needs time to adjust.” She giggled, “well, to stretch,” she added.

“Here, baby,” she said, lifting and offering her breast.

So my breakfast came from her body. I nursed each breast until I was full thinking that I could get used to this.

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