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By Lauren McAllister

My husband and I had been trying for a child for a couple of years. In other words, we’d been banging up a storm at every available opportunity but thus far his little swimmy guys had failed to make much of an impression on any of my eggs. So, you can imagine how thrilled I was, we both were, when I peed on that little strip and the fucker actually changed color. A bun was actually in my oven! The celebration at our house was huge. Dougie passed out after inhaling 2 entire bottles of champagne and I got these terrible farts from drinking 1 ½ quarts of orange juice.

            Alas, that wasn’t the only disparity in our approach and enjoyment level in creating a blessed addition to the family unit.  About 3 weeks into “making a baby”, I noticed that our ideas about “intimate time” differed considerably. Whereas, I wanted some – quite a bit in fact – when those opportune times arose, Dougie was nowhere to be intimately found.

            Unlike every man I had every known; I decided to meet this awkward situation head-on.

            “Is something up?” I asked over breakfast one morning, following a very fallow fuck night.

            “Ah, what you mean?” He retorted playing the traditional dimwitted male who didn’t want to meet this awkward situation head-on.

            “I mean, you haven’t touched me since I told you we were expecting. I’m going through enough physical changes as it is. The last thing I want is to feel like the unsexiest woman in the Western Hemisphere.”

            “But you’re not, sweetie.”

            “Then I suggest you put your dick where your mouth is…or where my mouth is. You know what I mean.”

            “I swear if I could, I would.”

            “What the hell is that supposed to mean? Have aliens descended to Earth and absconded with your genital apparatus?”

            “I love you baby, but I just can’t touch you in “that way” now that I know you have you know who you know where.”

            “But you already put you know who you know where!  That’s why you know who is there. And besides, she or he is the size of your brain right now. I don’t think that minute collection of cells is going to worry too much about you rummaging around in mommy’s vagina.”

            Dougie turned as white as a Republican fundraiser. “I’m sorry, but I just can’t go in there until our offspring has vacated the premises.”

            “And what the hell am I supposed to do in the meantime?”

            “You used to tell me how much you liked to masturbate…”

            “For the next 7 ½ months?! That’s your answer?”

            “That’s what I’ve been doing.”

            I’d pretty well had enough of this conversation. It was time to throw down the gynecological gauntlet.

            “Now listen here you, Mr. Husband! I am in the process of giving you a child, the greatest gift a woman can give a man. My reward is not going to be 7 ½ months of forced celibacy. Either you find it in your heart to put it in my snatch or you give me permission to find somebody else who will.”

            I felt sure that this ultimatum would make him see the error and idiocy of his ways. But alas, he was a man.

            Dougie shrugged. “Well, if that’s the way you feel that I’ve got no alternative but to let you seek temporary physical relief from another person.”



            “I’m going to sleep with a man. If I had any interest in sleeping with women I would’ve banged your sister at the cottage last summer. She was certainly up for it.”


            Our riveting back-and-forth discussion on the need for sexual congress within the marital contract went on for another 45 minutes and ended with Doug sleeping on the couch. To my absolute amazement, my husband had given me permission find my pleasures with another. This was all well and good, but who?

            When I got to work the next morning, I immediately began to look around for possible candidates of the penis-packing persuasion. Until that moment, I hadn’t given a moment’s consideration to workplace shenanigans, so I was now looking at my fellow cohorts with a completely different set of eyes. It couldn’t be anyone who was married and it certainly wasn’t going to be my boss (though I know that’s the traditional extramarital coital invitee in this sort of situations).

            The problem was the guys I was really attracted to were jerks. Let’s face it; women are genetically designed to give it up to overbearing Neanderthals. But there’s a significant difference in fantasizing about an undeserving office-mate while being plowed by one’s husband and actually getting plowed by said Neanderthal. Besides, I needed some discretion. I needed someone I could trust not to blab that he was schtupping me in front my husband to all and sundry. Plus, I needed someone who wasn’t going to dump me the second I started to take on serious ballast. The list of candidates was rapidly shrinking when Peter wandered into my cubicle. Pete wasn’t even on my list. He’d slipped my mind.

            “Hey Alicia,” he said with a warm smile, “I’m just heading down to the coffee shop and wondered if you wanted me to pick you something up?”

            I looked at him appraisingly.  Why the fuck not?

            “Yes. I would like a coffee, thank you,” I replied. “And if you’ve got a couple of minutes when you get back, there’s something I’d like to talk to you about.”

            Peter nodded amiably and toddled off to fetch our cappuccinos. Yikes! The cuckolding clock was now ticking. I became so nervous; I went to the bathroom three times while he was gone (boy, was this a taste of things to come).

            “I’m pregnant,” I informed him upon his return.

            “That’s wonderful, congratulations!”

            “Thanks. But I have a small problem. Since I found myself in the “family way” my husband has refused to fulfill his…his…Well, to put it bluntly, he has stopped fucking me.”

            Poor Peter went as white as a game show host’s teeth. “Gee, that’s a shame.”

            “But he has given me the go-ahead to take on a lover until the baby is delivered.”

            Poor, poor Peter. The wheels in his head must’ve been spinning at a 1,000 miles an hour.

            “A… a lover?” He stammered.

            “And I’d like you to be that man,” I said putting my hand on his leg. He practically jumped into the office a floor above us.

            “To be your lover?”

He was obviously having a hard time taking this all in.

I donned my biggest flirtatious smile. “What I’m asking sweet Peter, is if you would be kind enough to come over to my house and have sex with me.”

“But what about your husband?”

“He’s apparently decided that whacking-off to girlie mags will be a sufficient replacement to dipping his wick in me. So, please? Please will you come over tonight and make love to me. I promise, if you say yes, I will treat your balls and cock like Gods. Nothing will be too much to ask of me. Every gleaming, dewy orifice will be at your disposal. I won’t be a disappointment. ”

“Well, of course you wouldn’t. I mean…”

I kissed him on the lips while stroking his cheek. That had the desired effect and pretty well stopped all brain function within him. I held back from being too forward, liking sticking my hand down his pants. This was going to take a lot of subtly and finesse or I was going to scare the bejesus out of him.

At quitting time, I offered to drive. I knew that left to his own devices, he would hightail it. Once inside my car he was trapped. On the way over, I joked and flattered him. Again, nothing too aggressive. No touching. Just enough jovial banter to take his mind off the task ahead.

Well, I tried. When we got to the house he was literally shaking with fear. This only got worse when we walked into the living room and were greeted by my husband.

“Dougie, this is Peter,” I said putting a comforting arm through his. “He’s going to be my very special guest for the next couple of hours.”

Doug held out his hand in welcome. I think Pete thought hubby was going to karate chop him with it because he practically jumped out the living room window. It was time to take some fast action or my pussy was going to have to suffer through another lonely night.

“Baby, go get Peter an Anchor Steam.” In other words, “Get the fuck out of here until I have him inside me.”

As soon as my husband had turned his head, I pounced on my wavering-lover and stroked his neck.

“Hey, Dougie is absolutely cool with this. He’s getting you a beer.” I smothered his face in a ludicrously sexy kiss and gave his equipment a gentle squeeze through his pants. His dick was as soft as a boneless bunny rabbit. There was no doubt about it. Peter was a wee bit tense.

“Now, I need you to relax, okay?” Big kiss. “Because, I’ve been sooo looking forward to tonight.” Even bigger kiss. “I’m about to do something that I’ve been dreaming about since this afternoon and I don’t want you to panic.” Kiss. Kiss. Kiss. “Okay?”

He nodded his head stiffly, like I was about to give him a colonoscopy with a Smart Phone tied to a broom handle.  Luckily for him, that wasn’t my plan. I dropped to my knees, nuzzled his nutsack with my nose and then unzipped his pants. This was crazy.  I’d never had to work this hard to give a guy a blowjob in my life. As soon as his cock was out of his Dockers, I scooped it into my mouth. The second I felt it alight upon my tongue, his tension level dropped considerably. There is just something about a guy getting his knob slobbered on that pretty well wipes out any other thought he has in his skull. This was a strictly “feel good” hummer.  I was just swirling it around in my mouth and tickling his balls. No head pumping or major suction. I was simply giving a lot of love and attention to a man’s most attention-loving body part.

“You like that baby?” a rhetorically inquired, looking up at him.

“It’s wonderful, thank you so much.”

Ahhh.  What a sweet guy. I stood up and took his hand.

“If you think that feels good, wait till you see what I’ve got planned for you next.”

Within seconds I’d dragged him into the bedroom and I was pulling off my clothes and bra like they were on fire. He who hesitates maybe lost but she who has-a-tits usually wins. As soon as my fineries were a rumpled mess on the floor, I stuck my tongue down Peter’s throat, rapped my naked body around his and pulled him down on top of me.

Usually, I require my man make me cum with his mouth a minimum of two or three times before I let him board the babe bus. Alas, this first liaison was not about me.  My sole function during our inaugural humpfest was to ensure that Peter experienced historic amounts of “Whoopee” within my vaginal canal. I had my sights set on the long game and I was determined to fuck him cross-eyed.

He was going to go down on me, but I quickly pulled his head up and kissed him deeply and with conviction. I stared lovingly into his eyes as I reached between my legs and guided the head of his cock into the heart of the wet, squishy wonderfulness that was my pussy.  He let out a little involuntary sigh of pleasure as the first millimeters of his rod slipped their way into my womanly aperture.

From there on in, Peter could do as he pleased.  I was his sex stewardess, only there to make his ride as stress-free and cum-a-licious as humanly possible. To that orgasmic-end, I stroked his back, raked my nails lightly across his ass-cheeks and even reached down and played with his giggle berries as he thrust his dick into me. If “thrust” was indeed the word. He was so gentle and caring and considerate, I was afraid that he would never pop his log. I whispered sweet obscenities in his ear and slipped a saliva lubricated finger up his ass. Eventually, he started to huff and puff like an asthmatic train. Any girl who’s been shagged more than twice knows very well what that means. I began to grind my pussy into his increasingly frantic humping-motions until he let out this Wookiee-like wheeze and tossed his entire gooey load up into my uterus. Then, as most men do, his body immediately took on the consistency of a 180 pound sack of blancmange. While it was a little hard to breath under that big post-orgasmic lump of flesh, I let him bask in his manly moment for as long as he wanted. 

It was only when Dougie finally brought Pete’s beer into the room that Mr. Spent Dick rolled off me. I mean, I don’t blame him.  I’m one hell of a piece of ass, if I do say so myself. Hubby had been patiently standing in the doorway during most of the copulatory fireworks. Was that a boner I detected in his pants? He’d just watched some stranger fuck his wife, for Christsakes! 

 “Here’s your beer, man.” He held the bottle out like a water-boy offering refreshment to a star player on the sidelines of a basketball game.

Pete nervously accepted the premium brew and took an anxious swig. Things were beginning to tense up a little, so I decided to take the lead.

“So, why don’t you boys talk about sports or something, while I lick my juices off Peter’s equipment?”

A half a second later, I was lapping up my lady liquids as the two men awkwardly stared at each other. Eventually one of them mentioned football and the Buffalo Bills and then it was like they’d been chums since high school. Men can be so bewilderingly childish sometimes, can’t they? Here I am licking a stranger’s nuts in front of my husband and neither of them acted like I was even in the room.

The next day at work, I played it very cool.  The last thing I wanted to do was spook him or come across like some sort of stalker.  Finally, near the end of the day, I had to know. Taking a deep breath, I wandered ever-so-innocently into his cubicle.

“Hey you,” I beamed.

“Oh hi.” He seemed very uneasy. 

Shit, was he going to tell me the whole thing had been a huge mistake? Was I going to have to buy an industrial-strength vibrator and a subscription to Playgirl?

“I really enjoyed last night,” I cooed. “You were wonderful.”

Could plain old flattery turn the tide in my favor? If he didn’t want to fuck me now, what was he going to think when I had a stomach the size of an igloo?

“I was afraid that you were disappointed in me.  I mean you didn’t…ah…finish.”

Wow! This guy was actually concerned about my orgasm?  What planet was he from?  I immediately sat him down in his chair, got under his desk and sucked his cock. That seemed to do the trick (doesn’t it always), he came over that night and fucked me again…and then the boys had a beer and talked sports.  Apparently, the Bills have a core group that they think they can build on or something. I have no idea what they were talking about.

For the next seven months, Peter was a constant guest at our house and in my vagina. As I got bigger, we had to switch to me on top or this weird sideways doggie style position. My absolute favorite though, and I was the size of David Crosby by this point, was having my ass parked at the edge of the bed and Dougie holding my legs up while Peter stood in front of him and whammed his schlong into my glistening prego whore-hole. There was just something about seeing my husband peering over the shoulder of the man who was screwing my brains out that really baked my Alaska. The climaxes were Vesuvian. I’d start squirting like an incontinent fire truck and beg for seconds as he shot his creamy wad into my already fully-occupied womb.

In fact, Peter was banging away inside me when my water broke. The boys were so cute and panicky as they drove me to the hospital. It was like they were both going to become fathers.

Since that blessed day, a rather pleasant routine has set in.  Peter comes over two or three times a week.  First, Dougie plays with our daughter as our guest fucks the crap out of me. Then, Pete looks after my sweet little baby girl as Doug has a turn. Then I feed her and put her to bed while those two idiots drink beer and watch overweight millionaires bash each others’ brains in on a football field.  

Men are just so weird, aren’t they?

The End

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