by Bart Tracer
“Yeah,” I shrugged with a grin. “Besides, we don’t even know if Carol Ann is attracted to pregnant chicks.”
Just like that, the laughter died and my wife’s smile disappeared. Damn it! Me and my big mouth! I’d only been joking, and I knew that she knew that, but I had gone too far.
“Hey,” I said, putting my arm around her narrow shoulders, “I’m sorry, Baby. I shouldn’t have said that. I was just teasing!”
She nodded at me, her eyes brimming with tears, “I know, Bill. Really, I do. It’s just that… well, it’s actually a possibility. You know what I mean? Right now, sitting here with you, I could be pregnant! And we both know that there’s no way it could be yours! And, honestly, all kidding aside, I’m worried, Sweetie!
“I know you were only kidding about Carol Ann being attracted to pregnant women, but what about you? Will you still love me when I’m fat and pregnant? Or, will you be disgusted with me, knowing that I’m carrying another man’s child? What if you don’t love me anymore? What if… What if you leave me?! I don’t think I could bear that, Baby!”
Now, for the first time since our wait had begun, Elizabeth began to cry. Nestling her head into my shoulder, she began to sob, the hot salt tears running freely down her pale cheeks to drip onto my bare chest.
I’d been expecting this for some time. In truth, I was surprised it had taken this long. In spite of our kinky pillow talk, we were both under enormous strain, worried sick about what was going to happen.
Now, Lizzie was letting it out. I said nothing, just holding her, letting her cry. I kissed the top of her head and squeezed her tightly, my left hand reassuringly stroking her back. After a few minutes, her sobbing subsided and she raised her head to look at me, her beautiful eyes now bloodshot and watery.
I smiled sympathetically at her, bringing my hand up to wipe away the tears that streaked her cheeks. “Feeling better?” I asked.
She nodded, “A little, I guess.”
“Now, you listen to me, Mrs. Allen,” I said earnestly. “I’m never going to stop loving you, so you can just get that silly thought out of your pretty little head! I’m your husband, and I love you more than anything else in the world, period! No ifs, ands, or buts about it.
“Am I worried right now? Damn right, I am! Who wouldn’t be! But, if you think for one instant that I’ll be disgusted by you or resent you or stop loving you, just because we let our little game get out of hand and your big-dicked lover put his baby in you, well, you couldn’t be more wrong! If it does happen, I fully intend to fuck the holy hell out of you right up until the day you deliver!
“So, quit your bawling, woman! We’ll get through this, one way or the other. And we’ll do it together!” I winked and smiled at her.
When my speech was done, Elizabeth just stared at me, her mouth hanging open in shock. “God, I love you!” she said, throwing herself around my neck and squeezing me tightly. “You’re the best husband in the world,” she whispered in my ear.
I reached behind my neck and took her wrists in my hand, extricating myself from her loving chokehold. “But you still haven’t answered my question,” I insisted.
Elizabeth looked at me with a puzzled expression on her face. “What question?” she asked.
“Can I watch?” I grinned impishly.
“Horrible, horrible man!” she shook her head, laughing.
We stayed in bed until lunchtime, talking and joking with one another. Once Lizzie got over being sad, she was horny again. She restarted the video and, this time, we made love while we watched it.
That evening, as soon as the chores were done, we were back at it, frantically fucking as we watched her cuckolding me on the screen. It was some of the best sex we had ever had.
And always, in the back of our minds, we were counting down the seconds until Monday. Then we would finally know whether our fetish/horror/fantasy/disaster was a reality.
Chapter 11
The next two days were a lot like Wednesday. We alternated between worrying ourselves sick and screwing like rabbits. We fretted and fucked, fucked and fretted, and then we started once more from the beginning. The thought of her possible pregnancy had our nerves drawn as tight as the strings on a violin and sex seemed to be the only way to alleviate our stress.
When things were quiet and there was nothing else to occupy her mind, Lizzie sometimes cried, quietly and inconspicuously. Most of the time, she busied herself with housework or helped out with the horses, pitching hay and cleaning stalls. She insisted on coming along when I made my daily visit to Tom’s to do his chores. It was obvious she was doing anything and everything to try to occupy her mind and keep it off our ‘little problem’.
Any time we were together, we found it nearly impossible to keep our hands off each other. We did it in the bed, we did it in the hallway, we did it on the kitchen table. Heck, we even did it on top of the dusty old grain bin in the tack room! When we ran out of condoms, she immediately sent me to town to get more. And now, those, too, were running low!
And the teasing! Oh God, the teasing! I lost track of how many times my wife called me “her cuckold”. Her bald little pussy, which I was expected to shave for her each morning, was now consistently referred to as “Lance’s pussy”. The possibility of her being pregnant to Lance was now spoken of as a certainty, and Lizzie missed no opportunity to tease me about it.
Even as newlyweds, we had never been like this. I honestly think we had more sex that week than during the entire year up to that point. I’m sure a psychiatrist could’ve come up with a name for what was going on between us. All I knew was I had a deep and abiding need to be inside my wife as much as possible. It was an obsession.
But it was also exhausting. Between the stress and all the exercise we were getting in bed, by the time the weekend came around, I realized that we both needed a rest. I needed to get Lizzie out of the house, go do something, see something different. And, as crazy as it might sound, we needed to take a break from sex for a few hours!
“Hey, Babe,” I said to Lizzie Saturday morning as we sat at the breakfast table, “I’ve been thinking. Why don’t we go into town tonight?”
“Town?”
“Yeah. We could go to the movies, maybe go out to eat first. It’s been ages since we’ve been to Malone’s!”
“Hmm. That might actually not be such a bad idea.” Lizzie drummed against her upper lip with her fingertips, thinking about my suggestion.
“If nothing else, it would be an opportunity for you to wear that new fur coat Lance gave you!” I offered.
The little town of Glenton had exactly one restaurant that could even remotely be described as “fancy”. One restaurant that people dressed up and put on nice clothes to visit; one restaurant that had real, porcelain dishes and tablecloths and candles. And that restaurant was Malone’s.
Elizabeth liked Malone’s. For that matter, so did I. The food was awesome and the atmosphere impeccable. Somehow, we never found the time to go there as often as we’d like. There was always something that seemed more pressing. And, if I were completely honest, the joint was expensive as hell!
“Yeah,” Elizabeth nodded rapidly. “Let’s do it. It’ll be fun to go out to eat for a change.”
“And a movie afterwards?”
“Sure! Why not?! I’ll check and see what’s playing.”
“All right. It’s settled, then. Be ready to go at five thirty. That’ll give us plenty of time to get to town and avoid all the traffic.”
Lizzie snorted, rolling her eyes at me. It was a small town joke. If everyone in the little town of Glenton decided to drive at the same time, I still doubt that our combined efforts would’ve amounted to anything approaching traffic congestion.
There were several other couples already seated in Malone’s when I walked through the door with Lizzie on my arm. The room was dim, most of the light provided by the candlesticks placed in the center of the tables. Even so, I saw several of the men do a double take when they saw El
izabeth. At least one wife glared jealously in our direction.
I couldn’t blame them. Fur coats were a pretty rare sight in Glenton and Elizabeth looked magnificent in hers. Underneath the coat, she wore a tight, slinky black dress that stopped at mid-thigh, with a dangerous, provocative slit up one side that drew your eye like a road flare at midnight.
She had piled her fiery red hair atop her head, giving her an elegant, sophisticated look. Her long, beautiful legs were encased in an exquisite pair of black fishnet stockings, the lacy tops of which were clearly visible when she took a seat. Tonight, a pair of stiletto heels took the place of her usual cowboy boots, showing off her perfectly shaped calves with each step when the uniformed waiter escorted us to our table in the back of the restaurant.
It was her jewelry, however, that really rounded out her look. Of course, my judgment in the matter might have been a little compromised. In a brazen move that even now sent shivers of cuckold lust down my spine, my wife had chosen to wear the expensive pearl jewelry that Lance had given her.
As I pulled out her chair for her and watched her sit down, I had to admit that the pearl choker and the matching earrings were the perfect accessories for her little black dress. The perfect white pearls shone in beautiful contrast against the deep, inky blackness of her elegant dress. Her neck, already long and slender, seemed impossibly so when adorned by the choker.
But for me, the jewelry was a constant reminder of Lance, and I knew that that was precisely her intent. It was like a secret little joke that only she and I shared, a subtle twist of the knife that no one else could see. Every time I looked at her, I couldn’t help but think of him, the man for whom my wife had spread her legs, the man whose child she might be carrying.
Before I could start thinking about that again, the waiter came for our drink order. The movie theater was just down the street, so we could walk. I decided to have a beer. Lizzie ordered a white wine. With a quick nod, the waiter strode off toward the back.
Picking up the menu in front of me, I glanced superficially over the various offerings. In reality, consulting the menu was something I did, because others did it. It was normal, expected. So, I played along. But, I already knew what I was going to order. I had known since we left the house. It was the same thing I always ordered.
My lack of culinary curiosity was something of a joke between Lizzie and me. She was always trying something new, seldom ordering the same thing twice. I, on the other hand, was a finicky, picky eater. I tended to find something I liked and stick with it unwaveringly.
Now, staring with unseeing eyes into the glossy menu before me, it occurred to me that Elizabeth’s and my eating habits could be seen as a metaphor for the current state of our marriage. Where I was satisfied with the same thing I had enjoyed for years, Lizzie was bold and adventurous, willing to try new things. Like Lance’s oversized cock! I bit back a grin as I pondered my clever little analogy.
When the waiter returned with our drinks, Lizzie and I both gave him our meal orders. He thanked us and took our menus, heading back toward the kitchen, leaving us alone once more.
We touched our glasses. “Here’s to a fun evening,” I offered, raising my glass to her, then bringing it to my lips. As expected, the beer was good. Really good. It was a well-balanced, English-style ale with a nutty finish from a microbrewery a hundred miles or so south of here. Not too sweet, not too bitter.
When I glanced up at my wife, she took the wine glass from her lips and nodded appreciatively at her glass of Riesling. Apparently, the wine met with her approval, too. I had just opened my mouth to speak when a waiter showed a young couple to a table across from us.
I stopped with my mouth still open and silently watched the young husband pull out a chair for his wife, just as I had done for Elizabeth a few minutes ago. She really was a pretty young thing, pale and slender, with high cheekbones, delicate eyebrows, and full, luscious lips that bore just the right shade of lipstick to draw your attention to her mouth without making you conscious of the fact that you were looking.
She had long blonde hair that was pulled up into a luxuriant ponytail extending halfway down her back. Like Elizabeth, she wore a small, black dress that showed off a great deal of her fabulously long legs. But there was one not-so-subtle difference between the two women. Where Lizzie’s stomach was perfectly flat and trim, the woman at the other table was sporting a prominent bulge. She was very obviously pregnant.
Realizing that I was staring I tore my eyes away from the woman, closing my mouth and meeting Elizabeth’s eyes as I turned back to her. She was absently playing with her earring and looked quickly down at the table, her cheeks blushing crimson. She’d seen it, too, and had the same wicked thought that was now coursing through my brain. A few months from now, that could be Lizzie!
Again, the image of my young wife pregnant with Lance’s child leapt unbidden into my mind. As usual, a flood of confusing, conflicting feelings welled up inside me, choking me with emotion. Sheer, unadulterated horror and panic prevailed one second, shockingly perverse arousal the next.
I reached for my beer and took a big swallow as I tried to think of something else. The last thing I needed was to get an erection in a fancy restaurant! I tried to make small talk with my wife, asking about people we knew and other trivial things, but it was hard for both of us to concentrate and the conversation lagged. More than once, I caught her stealing a furtive, sidelong glance at the other couple, her hand unconsciously playing with the band of pearls around her neck as she did.
Thankfully, the waiter came, and we were able to turn our attention to the food. It was good. Excellent, in fact. We took our time, savoring each morsel, our eyes occasionally meeting across the table.
“How is it?” I asked, gesturing inquiringly with my fork toward her plate.
“Good!” she nodded. “Really good! Yours?”
“Yeah! Mine, too. Do you want any dessert?”
She shook her head. “No. Not tonight. Besides,” she looked at her watch, “we probably don’t have time for that. I really don’t want to miss any of the movie.”
I nodded silently, taking another bite of my food. I knew from our conversation in the truck that she was really looking forward to this particular movie, some romantic comedy or something. I personally had never heard of it, but it was what she wanted to see, so that’s what I was taking her to see.
In the dim, flickering light of the candle, I watched her glance once more at the beautiful pregnant girl at the other table and, when her eyes turned back to me, I could see that Elizabeth’s cheeks were flushed, her crystal-blue eyes wide and bright. I’d seen that look a million times, particularly in the last couple of days. My wife was turned on.
As soon as we were finished, I gave the waiter my credit card, signed the receipt, and ushered my wife out the door into the cold night air. We had about 20 minutes before the show started and the theater was only two blocks away, so we took our time, strolling arm in arm, pausing occasionally to look at the Christmas displays in the quaint little shop windows as we made our way leisurely along Main Street, heading toward the brightly lit billboard of the theater.
Chapter 12
The Glenton Cinema was an Art Deco structure built in the halcyon days of 1940, finished just before the war, and it had all the splendor of that era. From its magnificent marquee to its vaulted, spacious lobby, complete with enormous chandeliers, it was the very definition of the quintessential, classic American movie theater, and the current owner had spared no expense in restoring it to its former glory. I loved everything about the place.
I got our tickets from the girl in the ticket booth and we made our way inside. As we stood at the broad concession stand counter, waiting for our popcorn and soda pop, a young woman pushed a baby stroller up to the register next to ours, and I saw Lizzie’s head tilt to look tenderly down at the smiling, pink little face staring up out of it.
When she looked up and saw me watching her, she rolled her eyes at m
e and stuck out her tongue. Then, she abruptly turned away to study a movie poster on the wall as I collected our snacks.
“Are you ready?” I asked, coming up behind her to place a hand on her slim waist, enjoying the sleek feel of the fox fur beneath my fingers.
Smiling warmly, she turned to face me, her eyes taking in the boxes of popcorn and Styrofoam cups in the plastic tray in my hand. “Got everything?” she asked. “Do you need a hand?”
“Nah! I’ve got it. Let’s go.” I offered her my arm and we pushed through the giant, heavily padded doors that led into the theater auditorium.
Light strips on the floor stretched down the sides of the aisle from the door to the screen. We walked about halfway down the aisle and sat down in the middle of the center section. I passed a box of popcorn and a soda to Lizzie and we leaned back, chatting idly, waiting for the show to start.
The auditorium was fairly empty. The cold weather had probably kept most people away. There were maybe fifteen or twenty people scattered throughout it, mostly in small clusters of two to three people. As I surveyed the other moviegoers, the house lights dimmed, throwing the cavernous room into inky darkness, broken only by the faint glow of the light strips lining the paths between the rows of seats.
As we waited for the movie to start, the large doors to the lobby opened, a bolt of yellow light shooting through the gap, piercing the dark. I turned my head to look over my shoulder, blinking at the sudden glare, and my eyes were drawn to the figure of a man holding the door so that a woman could pass. When she stepped into the rectangle of light, her body was silhouetted for a brief instant, and I felt my pulse quicken. It was the same woman from the restaurant. The pregnant woman!
“Fuuuck!” I muttered quietly to myself, feeling the butterflies in my stomach, “It’s like a cosmic baby conspiracy!” I felt a bolt of dread run through me as I considered the possibility that the universe might be conspiring against me. Lizzie turned her head to look quizzically at me, unsure if I’d spoken. I just shook my head reassuringly.
