by Blaise Quin
Her hands moved faster and faster, milking his shaft. He was so big she was able to hold him in her hand even though he was deep inside her. On the blank canvas of my eyelids I pictured her taking it, wanting it, demanding it. Not only his cock, but his cum.
Which shot out, jets of heat which set her off, her pussy tightening, squeezing, milking, drawing every drop of life giving seed deep into her unprotected womb.
The next day I slept in, professing tiredness when Emily reminded me of the time. I told her I was going to go to the office a little late, still recovering from my trip.
What I was really recovering from was my failure to get it up the night before.
For her own part Emily seemed happy, brushing her lips against my cheek as I lay in bed, the usual post lipstick graze of a woman on the way out.
I actually was tired, because I’d barely slept the night before. I tried to think of a single time, even when drunk, when I hadn’t been able to get it up with a woman. Maybe I’d been too drunk a few times to remember, but I certainly hadn’t been drunk last night. Or even very tired.
And I’d reacted more than quickly when my mind had changed to Emily with another man.
As the thought crossed my mind my cock stirred under the covers, proof of my suspicion. Had I lost the ability to become hard any other way?
Worse, my most arousing thoughts had been imagining Emily being taken unprotected. No, more than that. Being impregnated.
My stomach twisted, bile rising in my throat. That was sick. I’d got over my weird kink about wife sharing, especially since I’d discovered that it wasn’t so weird after all, or at least, I was far from the only man—or woman—who had that fantasy. But pregnancy?
Even my dirty talk to Emily about another man coming inside her. For some reason I’d disconnected that from actual pregnancy. Not realistic, of course, especially since Emily wasn’t on the pill. But that was the beauty of fantasies, you could skip over those problematic real world complications.
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to force the image out of my mind, but all I could see was Emily, her belly swollen, a beautiful smile on her lips, happy. Nothing wrong with that, she wanted to be pregnant someday, we wanted kids.
Her head turned, drawing my eyes away from her belly, to the man behind her. The black man. He was staring at me, a little smile on his lips. He put his huge hand on her belly, claiming what was his.
My eyes snapped open. I cast around wildly, as if he was in the room. I was greeted only by the empty space. Where was Emily? Who was she with?
I jumped out of bed and ran to the bath, splashing cold water on my face, not even feeling it. Only after my shirt was soaking wet and the floor a puddle did I turn off the water.
Get to work, I thought. Get your mind busy.
I took a really fast shower, not wanting to linger any longer where my mind could wander. Focused myself on getting ready, making coffee, driving to the office. One step at a time.
I don’t know how I made it through the day. The image of the hand on Emily’s full belly gnawed at me, pulling my mind away from work. Twice people had to repeat questions to me, I was so distracted.
At my desk between meetings I started typing in a search, only stopping mid word when I realized that anything I entered would be recorded on some IT server. I barely ate, my mind flinging between the opposite painful alternatives of not being able to get it up and only being able to get it up thinking about Emily being impregnated. Two opposing, but connected sexual horrors. My inability to give Emily what she wanted, forcing her to go elsewhere for gratification. For a child.
Unable to take it any longer, I cancelled my last meeting, citing a stomach problem, which was certainly not a lie. I rushed home.
Without even changing out of my work clothes I sat at the computer and typed in wife impregnated by another man.
And was rewarded—a sick reaction, if you think about it—with tens of thousands of hits. Mostly porn, but even some articles. With almost morbid fascination I clicked on the first article.
It discussed sperm competition and biological diversity, the idea being that there was a genetic underpinning to the concept of not only multiple male partners being good for the human race, but the theory that a man watching another man have sex with a woman was inherently arousing. The reason for this arousal had to do with sperm production and strength. By seeing a man trying to breed a woman, the watching man’s body would prepare more and stronger sperm, in order for him to be the successful father. When it was his turn with the woman.
I didn’t know squat about biology so wasn’t sure if that was all bullshit. I clicked on another search result, which turned out to be a forum of sexual experiences, not just hotwives. One entire forum was dedicated to what was titled breeding.
I was stunned with the number of posts. While half of them could have been totally fake, enough had a sense of truthfulness. Men, women, couples, all not only with the fantasy of pregnancy from a non husband, but with stories of actual attempts and actual pregnancies. Some were from women who couldn’t conceive with their husbands, some were from women going too far in a wife sharing tryst, some were from men who actually wanted to be the father of another man’s baby. It sounded humiliating, but that, I read, was a kink in and of itself.
I’d never really desired, or felt, any sense of humiliation in my fantasies with and about Emily. Even with Dwayne, it wasn’t about wanting to be humiliated, it was about wanting to give Emily a sexual experience I could not. No, the desire for humiliation couldn’t be it at all.
I had just wanted Emily to be satisfied. She also wanted to be pregnant, another satisfaction to experience. That had to be the explanation. I’d just got the two desires mixed together, that was it. Seeing her aroused, seeing her pregnant.
I wasn’t sure if that’s what drove others as well, but I found hundreds and hundreds of posts, on that forum and others, expressing the thrill of seeing your wife impregnated by another man.
And that was before I even got to the porn.
I guessed I had noticed a few of the videos in the hotwife porn I had watched both alone and with Emily, but even then the whole unprotected man coming in the woman never immediately and directly connected in my mind with pregnancy. It turns out there was an entirely different porn category from wife sharing, called breeding. Not only women (many looking like porn professionals, but a few obvious real life homemade videos too) having a man finish in them, but husbands filming it. And to top it off, before and after photos, the woman slim in one image, then pregnant in the other. Sometimes with a man, often a black man, with his hand on her belly.
Just like my fantasy.
I leaned back in the chair, relieved and distraught at the same time. Relieved, because I wasn’t a sexual sicko. Well, maybe I was, but I wasn’t alone. I shuddered to think of how many other kinks there were out there I had no idea about.
Distraught, because now I’d never get it out of my head.
A week later, I sat on the edge of the bed, watching Emily get ready for work. Her preparations appeared to be completely normal, her attitude and manner totally in keeping with any other work day.
Yet this wasn’t any other work day. It was the day Antonio would arrive from Europe. The first man she had kissed other than me since we’d been married.
“Don’t keep staring,” said Emily. “I told you, nothing is going to happen.”
She had told me that, and I believed her. And yet, I couldn’t help but try to discern if she made any special preparations. Was she wearing more makeup? Had she chosen a specific bra? Was she hiding her own nervousness?
“Who says I’m just not enjoying watching you get ready?”
She gave me a doubtful smirk, shaking her head. “So today of all days you want to watch me get dressed?”
“I’ve watched other days too.” Emily just smiled, so I added, “Okay, busted.”
She stood in front of me, holding out her arms for me to get a good look,
doing a pirouette. “See? Same typical office outfit.” She kissed me lightly on the top of the head. “Now go and do something useful, and make coffee while I finish up, okay?”
I reluctantly left the bedroom, glad she wasn’t angry at me. Besides, I could always fantasize.
Emily waited until Justin had left the room. She was glad she hadn’t put on her shoes yet, her legs were so weak she might not have been able to stand up straight even in her low office heels.
She’d put up a good front for Justin, but to tell the truth, she was pretty nervous about seeing Antonio again. She’d had too many thoughts of him. Now that she’d returned Justin to his rightful place in her mind as her main man, she didn’t want Antonio to spoil it and distract her attention from her husband.
And a small part of her wanted to retain that image of the sexy, suave, alluring Antonio. What if when she saw him again he didn’t fit her image? It would be like the destruction of a childhood fantasy. Devastating.
She made it to the door, then ran back into the bathroom for one last look at herself in the mirror. Glancing nervously over her shoulder, she adjusted her blouse, then applied just a tad more eyeliner.
Even though nothing was going to happen, she didn’t want to spoil Antonio’s image of her, either.
Emily felt the ripple run through the conference room even before she looked up. Subtle shifting of chairs, a few intakes of breath, a pen being set down. Emily’s boss, Lilly, was ushering Antonio into the room.
Everyone stood to greet him. Emily tried not to stare, although no one would have noticed. Antonio was an important guest, all eyes would be on him. Still, she held back as hands were shaken, Antonio being introduced, politely remembering the names of those he had met. That sexy accent, the cultured poise.
He looked every bit as good as what she had remembered, every bit as good as her fantasies.
When it was her turn her smile wasn’t forced. She was afraid if she looked him right in the eye she’d falter, so she focused on his mouth, seeing his lips move, letting his words wash over her. That was a mistake. Looking at his mouth reminded her of their kiss.
Her heart was pounding, not from love, but from the memory of that first step with another man. She could still hear his words, and her ears played a trick on her, he wasn’t asking her how she’d been, how nice it was to see her again, he was telling her how beautiful she looked, how he’d missed her, how much he’d been thinking of her.
When their hands touched it was as if she was kissing him again, it was as if they had agreed that they’d kiss with their fingers when in the presence of other people. Their hidden secret.
Then it was over, Antonio had moved on to shake another hand, and Emily stood there, numbly, wondering if she’d imagined it all. Had he even called her by name? Had he remembered her at all?
She sat back down gingerly, not trusting her senses to guide her.
She didn’t remember anything at all about the meeting.
Later that evening a large group from the office took Antonio to dinner at a fancy French restaurant. Emily, still not quite sure how to act around Antonio, or perhaps not trusting how she’d respond, had not shared a private word with him the entire day.
On the way into the restaurant, Lilly pulled Emily aside. “I’m going to assign you as Antonio’s liaison again. I don’t have to remind you how important this is.”
Emily glanced over Lilly’s shoulder, watching Antonio disappear into the restaurant. “Maybe you should give it to someone else?”
Lilly pursed her lips. “Actually, I was going to do it myself. Not because I don’t think you will do great. You succeeded last time he was here, otherwise he wouldn’t be back. But he’s a senior executive, and the deal is at the point where we need to match ranks. It’s all about optics.”
“Sure, I understand.” Emily was relieved. Mostly.
“But Antonio specifically asked for you.”
“What?”
“Yes. I hinted around about the optics, not because of what he might think, but he has bosses too, and I didn’t want them to believe we weren’t taking this seriously. But he wants you.”
“Oh.” Emily didn’t know what else to say.
Lilly was already ushering her into the restaurant. “Just do—whatever you did last time.”
Which was exactly what Emily was worried about.
I swore to myself that I wouldn’t get all worked up, either worrying about, or fantasizing about, Emily’s first day with Antonio. After all, she’d told me she probably wouldn’t have a moment alone with him, and doubted she’d be working with him closely.
So I left the office at the usual time, ran a few errands, grabbed a bite to eat, and went home. I got a beer and settled down in front of the television.
I made it through the first two hours watching an action flick rerun, although I did check my phone and the clock every ten minutes. After that my mind began to drift, wondering what Emily was up to, filling in the blanks. . .
The group was in a private room, a nicely laid out long single table in the center, no one sitting yet, sipping cocktails before dinner. Emily and Lilly were the last to arrive. A dozen people, clustered in groups, the usual office chitchat. Antonio was listening to two women, the heads of marketing and advertising.
Normally Emily wouldn’t drink at an event like this, maybe a little wine with dinner, she always wanted to have a clear head. But tonight a drink seemed like a good idea.
There was a waiter taking drink orders, and Emily had a wild thought about asking for a Climax in a loud voice, just to see everyone’s reaction, especially Antonio’s. Of course she’d never do that, but she laughed half aloud.
“Perhaps you could share your amusing thought with me,” said a voice behind her. That voice.
Emily turned. Somehow Antonio had freed himself from her fawning co-workers—why did she have that thought?—and had eased in behind her. Emily blushed. Would she have told him the truth if she’d been in private?
“Just thinking about what to drink,” she said.
Antonio’s eyes gleamed. “This must be an American concept. A funny drink, perhaps?”
“Something like that.” She paused. Normally, with any other person, the normal thing would be to say, Nice to see you again. How have you been. Or any other such small talk. Yet right now it would feel too personal. Or not personal enough.
Or maybe she’d said all that in the conference room, and was just too dazed to remember.
“I’m looking forward to the next step in our mutual association,” Antonio said.
What did he mean by that? Was he talking about the companies, or the two of them? And the way he had said association. . .
“I’ll do my best to make sure you get whatever you need,” she said. Then immediately realized that had come out all wrong. “With the business, of course.”
Antonio gave her his wonderful smile. “Of course. What else could you possibly mean?”
“I—.” Emily lowered her voice, even as she realized that it would only make what she was going to say more suspicious to anyone who might be listening, and the room was small enough that at least a few people could likely hear. “We all want this to be a successful endeavor.”
Antonio raised an eyebrow. “We’ve had a great start. Now it’s just—how do you say it in English? Getting across the finish line. We don’t want to waste what is obviously a very promising beginning, do we?”
As Emily searched for a suitable response Lilly said, “Let’s all sit for dinner. Antonio, if you would be so kind, take this seat in the middle of the table so no one will have to shout.” Antonio sat down, and Lilly took the seat to his right. “And Emily, in case you have to whisper reminders of who everyone is in his ear, please sit on the other side of Antonio.”
Everyone laughed, Emily’s a little forced, knowing Antonio’s body would be magnetically close all evening.
All my promises to not get worried or aroused about Emily’s dinner didn’t
keep me from staring at the door, waiting for her return.
When she finally arrived I didn’t even attempt to hide my anxious expression.
For her part, Emily didn’t seem startled to see me on the lounge chair, waiting expectedly.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi yourself.” I was dying to ask her, but she must have realized what I’d been dwelling on.
“It went fine,” she said. “Meetings all day, a dinner, just as planned. A group dinner.” Emily had her jacket over her arm and laid it on the back of the sofa. “I barely had two minutes alone with him.”
There was nothing wrong or surprising in that statement, but the way she phrased that was a little odd, or perhaps it was an overtone in her voice. “And?” I prodded, keeping my voice as neutral as I could.
She didn’t look up right away, pressing invisible wrinkles out of her jacket. When she did look up there was a slight tremble in her lip, but there was also an unmistakable brightness in her eyes.
“He wants me,” she said.
An hour later, we lay clutched together on the sofa, out of breath. The only clothes not strewn on the floor was the jacket Emily had set down on her arrival.
We’d virtually attacked each other, undressing as fast as we could. There was almost no foreplay, both of us ready, hot. Emily not only didn’t seem surprised that I’d had a condom in the side table, she actually seemed to expect it.
Our coupling had been intense. Not rough, but passionate, sexual. We both knew what the other was thinking. Well, I knew what I was thinking, and I guessed at what was on her mind.
No one comes home that aroused from a work dinner. Unless there was someone at that dinner they wanted.
