by E Ashford
Sister Shelly Needs a Baby
The Complete Trilogy
Sister Shelly Needs a Spanking
Shelly Owned
The Husband’s Revenge
Copyright 2016 by E Ashford
All Rights Reserved
Contents
Part 1: Sister Shelly Needs a Spanking
Part 2: Shelly Owned
Part 3: The Husband’s Revenge
Part 1: Sister Shelly Needs a Spanking
Shelly had to admit that the sex had been amazing. She’d ridden Michael’s cock for nearly half an hour before he’d come, mashing her clit against his stomach and bouncing on him until he’d mentioned something under his breath about bruising his balls. But then she’d been angry as she’d fucked, and though that had driven her wild for a time, now that it was over and she lay quietly in the dark, her anger at her husband had turned to sleepless grief.
It simply wasn’t fair. It wasn’t her fault that Michael had been married before. It wasn’t her fault that he’d already had a child. It wasn’t her fault that his ex-wife had struggled during delivery, that she had been told never to have another child, and that he had “nobly” volunteered to have a vasectomy. It wasn’t her fault that they’d divorced and now he was married to a woman who wanted children more than anything. None of those things were her fault, but she certainly had to pay the consequences. She was twenty-five and ready to have a child, but with a forty year old husband who couldn’t give her one.
Last night she had begged and pleaded with Michael to try in-vitro fertilization with a sperm donor, but he’d steadfastly said no. His salary as a teacher just wouldn’t cover it – he wasn’t about to mortgage their future. And anyway, he wasn’t interested in raising some other person’s kid. She’d tried to reason with him on both counts, reminding him of what the doctor had said: that legally, the child would be completely theirs, and anyway it would have her DNA at least. He was having none of it though. Maybe later when they had the money, but not now. Shelly didn’t want to wait any longer though. She desperately wanted to be a mother now.
And so they’d gone to bed angry, and they’d fucked angrily – or at least she had – and now she lay in the dark angry.
*****
She’d woken up just as miserable all the same though, and Michael seemed to be in a mood as well. He had barely spoken to her that morning as they both prepared for the day. Often, in happier days, they would shower together, not really a sexual thing but a chance to hold each other, their skin touching under the warm water of the shower. If she was really lucky, he’d volunteer to wash her hair, his half-hard penis pressed against her ass as he scrubbed back and forth, working his hands in and out of her hair.
But today, and for so many days lately, he’d woken first, showered and dressed before she’d managed to stumble to the bathroom. He’d be sitting there when she got downstairs, checking his email but “waiting” on her so they could share breakfast together. She spit out her toothpaste and made a face at herself in the mirror, sticking out her tongue as she had when she was ten and she’d had some argument with her little brother.
With one hand she absently ran her fingers through her blonde bangs, wrinkling up her nose so that the sparse freckles that covered it scrunched up together. She was sorry in a way. He was always so wonderful to her, always quick with a word to compliment her physique, her impish smile, her compact, almost boyish frame, her pert tits. She assessed herself now as she stood naked, her skin reddish from the heat of the shower. Boyish wasn’t quite right – “pixie-ish” maybe. She was short, five foot four, but still very much in shape, with a taught tummy that led down to a trim blondish tuft of hair between her legs. Her legs were muscular as well, a product of all the laps she did each afternoon at the Y.
She sighed as she padded back into the bedroom on bare feet. She pulled on her jeans under an old t-shirt, slid on her tennis shoes, and headed downstairs to face him.
It was as awkward as she had expected, the way it always was for them after a fight. He pretended nothing was wrong, and she never really felt like pushing the issue.
“I missed you in the shower,” she said cheerfully, pulling a bowl from the cabinet.
“Sorry,” he said just a little too defensively. “Had some quizzes I needed to grade this morning. I’ve been putting them off too long and the kids are starting to get anxious.”
“Oh well,” she tried brightly, “Had all the warm water to myself that way.”
She knew that by lunch time he’d text, say he missed her, and things would go back to normal – well as normal as they got these days with everything “baby-tense” – but when she heard him back his car out of the garage twenty minutes later, he’d still said only a couple of more sentences. And in the back of her mind, part of her remembered why she was still angry with him. And in the front of her mind, she still grieved over the fact that she might be childless for the rest of her life.
*****
She’d still been obsessing about it all that afternoon at the Y, turning it over and over in her mind as she kicked hard away from the side and felt her body slide easily beneath the water until she broke the surface and began to propel herself forward with her arms in a breast stroke.
It was when she’d finally climbed out of the pool, exhausted, that it had hit her. It had been the guy sitting at the side, dangling his feet into the water. He was nothing special – a little overweight in fact, with red hair. Definitely not her type. And normally she would have been offended by the way he looked her over in her conservative black one piece. He’d been subtle about it, but not subtle enough. And as usual in such a situation, she’d quickened her pace to the chaise where she’d left her towel. But halfway there she’d slowed. She supposed that had given him a nice look at her ass, as her hand had reached around absently to pull the elastic back into place.
But that was it: they didn’t have to do in vitro at all, didn’t have to worry about scraping up money or putting their future in jeopardy or even DNA. It was simple really: Michael couldn’t give her a baby; but Michael’s brother Jonah could. Didn’t guys look at her at the pool? She was sure Jonah would be interested if they asked him to help get her pregnant the old fashioned way.
*****
She’d planned it out carefully. She barely waited until Michael was in the door to spring her idea on him, knowing that he’d instantly reject the idea, that they’d argue. And argue they had – she was surprised the neighbors hadn’t come over to check on them.
“You’ve lost your mind. You think I’m just going to let you fuck somebody else?”
“But it’s Jonah, Michael. It’s not like it’s some random stranger.”
That had only seemed to make things worse: “I’d rather you fucked a stranger! You might as well. How would I look my brother in the eye after something like that? How would you? I can’t believe you could even think of something like that. It makes me sick to my stomach.”
On and on and on, until they’d exhausted every argument they could throw at one another and he’d finally stormed off to the bedroom.
But that was all part of the plan. She knew Michael too well, knew that he always reacted heatedly to new ideas. But she also knew he always calmed down in a few hours, felt bad for his anger, and returned sheepish and willing to talk things out. More often than not, in fact, she was pretty sure she won most of their arguments this way, a combination of a few tears and his own guilt complex. They’d been together for seven years now, and though she had been young when they’d met, only eighteen, and though she supposed in many ways she was still young, she had come to know her husband well.
And though it had taken longer than she’d thought – he hadn’t sought her out again until bed time – he had seemed to come to terms with the idea. As he pulled the covers back for both of them to get into bed, he’d actually apologized.
“Have you really thought this through, Shelly?” he asked when they’d turned off the lights and he’d snuggled against her. “I mean, Jonah’s my brother. I’m not even sure how he’ll take this idea, but won’t it be…awkward?”
“Yes,” she’d confessed after thinking about it for a moment. “But it is what it is. And it’s not like it will be romantic or anything. I don’t want something like that. Just sex. Just a few minutes of sex and that’s all there is to it.”
“Suppose it doesn’t take the first time? How many time are you willing to sleep with him?”
“I’ll be careful. We’ll get a fertility kit and time it to the minute. And so maybe it takes two or three times? The more times we do it the less it’ll feel awkward, and the more it’ll feel like a job.”
“I know this is important to you,” he’d said at length. “I’m worried it will be harder than you think to go through with it. But if it’s what you want, I’m on your side.”
*****
Over the next couple of days as they planned out how to approach Jonah, she’d begun to have doubts as well. The truth was, she’d always been a bit shy sexually. Oh, not with Michael. She loved his body, loved the smell of him, loved the way he felt inside of her. And she’d given in early on when he had suggested she might buy some toys, and she’d had to admit he was right about them. She had even gotten to the point where she would show off for him a bit sometimes, her pink vibe buzzing away at her clit while she worked a dildo in and out of her pussy, her eyes closed, a smile on her face as he positioned himself down between her legs, watching her fingers work herself up, his own hand pumping his cock as she did it. But she always preferred he lie next to her in bed as she masturbated, holding her, kissing her neck, sucking her nipples. It wasn’t just that she liked the way he held her. She definitely did, and always came harder when he seemed to wrap himself about her, hold her as she’d been held as a child when she was afraid. But it was hard too to come with him watching her so closely. The embarrassment would overtake her as she moved closer to her orgasm, and inevitably she’d ask him to come up next to her. And inevitably he would.
But every now and then he’d suggest something a little more daring: going to dinner with no panties, or having sex in their porch swing. And somehow she could never quite bring herself to do anything so brazen.
The thought of fucking another man – her brother-in-law, someone who knew her – terrified her. She’d had to remind herself over and over that there was a payoff, that nine months from now she’d be holding an infant in her arms. And even so, she’d spent a lot of time thinking through how to control the situation as much as possible. She would get undressed before he showed up, remain under the covers throughout the whole thing. She’d close her eyes and think about the baby, keep it completely non-sexual. And most of all, there was no way she could allow Michael to be there.
He’d asked her, in fact, if she wanted him there for moral support, to help her feel more comfortable. And though in some ways she did, wanted him there so she wouldn’t be facing this alone, so he could hold her hand and help her get through it, she just didn’t think she could control her emotions in such circumstances.
More than that, she feared how he himself would handle it. He was brave, and he cared about her so much that she knew he was fighting every impulse inside himself allowing her to do this thing. In fact, when it came down to it, Michael had been the one to ask Jonah over dinner. She’d mostly sat silently at the table, unable really to even look at the two men more than once or twice as they discussed it like it was a business deal (though she had answered clearly when Jonah had asked her if she was sure). She didn’t think it would be fair to make Michael watch it all as well.
*****
By the time the afternoon arrived, she was an absolute mess. As the days had gone by, and she had checked her ovulation cycle over and over to pinpoint the precise day, she’d begun to hope, irrationally, that it wouldn’t come. Maybe there was something wrong with her and she wouldn’t ovulate. Or maybe her testing would miss the moment somehow. But, of course, eventually the day had come, the day when the plus sign on the stick signaled her body was ready, whether or not her mind was.
Michael had called Jonah at work, as arranged, and Jonah had taken off and driven over. Meanwhile, Shelly had showered, scrubbing herself carefully with trembling hands, and put on jasmine body spray. Then, as she’d imagined it in her mind, she snuck into bed, pulling the white sheets and comforter up over her breasts. The sheets felt soft and cool around her, but her stomach did flip-flops and her feet moved restlessly.
She heard Jonah’s car pull into the drive, heard him knock on the door, heard he and Michael talk for a few minutes downstairs, though she could only make out indistinct voices. Then she heard Jonah’s steps on the stairs, a different pace from Michael’s, a different weight, as he come slowly up to where she lay.
He opened the door softly, smiled at her gently, then closed the door just as softly behind him. In his hands he held two glasses of white zinfandel. He was still dressed in his work clothes, but then he would be of course: sport coat and striped shirt with gray slacks.
“I brought you some wine,” he said cheerfully. “I thought it might help a little.”
She admired the way he seemed to be trying to put her at ease, and leaning up, still holding the comforter firmly in place, she took the glass from him and drank a sip. It was cold to her tongue, and sent a warm sensation through her body, and she took a longer drink then before setting it on the bedside table. Jonah took a sip as well and looked steadily at her.
“I know this is strange,” he said as she lay her head back on the pillows. “But I’m sure we’ll get through it.” As he said this, he took off his jacket and laid it on a chair near the window. Shelly closed her eyes, but she could hear as he continued to undress: his shoes and socks, his belt, his shirt.
She opened her eyes again as he began to take off his pants, revealing black boxers beneath. He was a good looking man, she thought to herself. Five years younger than Michael, he had similar dark, close cut hair, though with fewer patches of gray. He was square jawed, with Michael’s same brown eyes. He was maybe ten pounds lighter than his brother, though, with abs that were more defined.
He slipped off his boxers and stood there now naked. She followed the trail of his dark curly body hair from his chest down over his stomach to the neatly trimmed pubic hair below. His penis was only partly hard. He stood there apparently unembarrassed by the situation, doing his best to put her at ease. His right hand moved down to his cock and began to massage it slowly as he gazed steadily at her again.
“Can you take the covers off?” he asked. “It would help if I had something to work with,” and he nodded down at his half-hard dick as he said it.
This hadn’t been part of Shelly’s plan, but her nerves made her mind spin, and without thinking, she did as he asked, pushing the covers down from her body, revealing all of herself to his gaze. As she did so, though, she began to cry. It was all so overwhelming: seeing this man, her brother-in-law, nude in front of her; allowing him to see her in a way only Michael ever had; knowing that in a moment he would be inside her.
He moved close to the bed then, though she couldn’t see him distinctly through her tears. She imagined the pitiful sight she must be, lying there pale and trembling, like a fish out of water, her pathetic sobs like some mewling infant. He would be looking at her with sorrow and pity.
“I’m so sorry,” she said between sobs, “I just don’t think I can go through with it.” And yet she made no movement, simply lay there listening for him to say something soothing or perhaps walk quietly out.
Instead, he leaned over her, his hot breath next to her face un
til his mouth was at her ear: “Listen to me, Shelly,” he whispered, and his voice wasn’t soothing at all. Instead, it was menacing. “You wanted a baby. You asked me to give you a baby. And you’re going to get a baby.”
Instinctually, she moved to cover herself from his view, to protect herself from what now felt like a threat. Her arm hugged her breasts tightly, her right hand cupped her sex.
She felt his hands, rough and forceful now, slowly and with deliberateness, take both her arms firmly and place them at her sides. She could feel his intense emotions in his touch, and she seemed powerless to resist, feeling her own muscles go limp. She simply allowed him to move them, allowed them to stay exactly where he’d put them.
Her eyes remained blurry, but she could feel his eyes staring at her, looking over her naked body. She’d never felt so exposed and humiliated, but somewhere deep within there was a thrill as well, a tingle that travelled up her spine, giving her skin goosepimples all over. With both hands he reached down to her thighs and pulled them firmly open. This time she made no attempt to cover herself, simply allowing him to gape at her pussy, the delicate lips now fully revealed to his hungry stare.
“Turn over,” he said then, using his hands to push her as she herself squirmed over onto her belly, her arms still fixed at her sides.
She lay there and continued to sob. He knelt over the bed, and she felt absolutely powerless lying there with him looming over her. He leaned in close to her ear again, the hairs of his bare chest now tickling her back, his cock now hard as a rock resting against one cheek of her ass.
“Let’s get you wet and ready,” he whispered, and a tiny moan escaped her lips, as she wondered what this meant. She’d had no intention of being excited by her husband’s brother, and she realized now that, whatever her plan had been, he was definitely excited by her. What did this mean? How could she make this stop? But then again there was that nagging voice deep down insider her, the one that had caused her arms to go limp when he had moved them, the one that had wiggled her ass – playfully; could it have been? – when he turned her over.
