Death by Fucking
© 2005 by Andrew Wiggin
Chapter 14
Scenes from the Year Zero
Andrew’s Story
- Meeting Mom
I may look back on this
year and say ‘that’s when it all started’. It might be the year that
things changed just for me. Or it might be the year that things changed for the
whole world.
This might be the Year
Zero. This could be our Genesis. Some future historians will look
back and mark 2003 A.D. as the start of the new calendar, the third era of
mankind. Naahh!
If I talk to people about
this they will think I am nuts. They already think I’m nuts, going from
no woman to two women almost overnight.
My Mother! Oh, boy
was this a shock to her? I thought of introducing Dee Dee
and Donnie to her separately to lessen the surprise, make things go down a
little more smoothly. But I realized that she just wouldn’t believe that
there were two different women involved. She would think I was making
some strange joke at her expense, yanking her chain for no apparent
reason.
Now she knows I’m not
joking. We walked into the old homestead up in
After Dad died, that
income came in real handy for Mom. It’s a nice setup for her, but
bringing the girls home to Mom isn’t an exercise in affluence. One can’t
pretend that my other house is a mansion.
The girls seemed
perfectly happy with my old digs. But ‘perfectly happy’ is not the term I
would apply to Mom when I brought these two beautiful but identical girls into
her living room and told her that I was spending the rest of my life with both
of them.
I had called and told her
I was coming; told her I was bringing guests; told her it was very
important. I have no idea what she expected, but I bet it wasn’t this.
Mom greeted us at the
door. I gave her a big hug and a kiss on the cheek, then
led all four of us into the living room. I wanted Mom sitting down for
this one. We took seats, Mom in her favorite chair, the girls on the
couch, and me in the recliner that my Dad used to watch football games
in.
“Mom I want to introduce
Deirdre and Donnie Martin.”
Mom looked a little
unsure of herself, but smiled and said “Oh, aren’t you lovely! Are you
twins?” She was always a few cans short of a six-pack.
Dee Dee
said, “Yes, Mrs. Adkins, we are. This is my sister, Donnie, and I’m
Deirdre. Please call me Dee Dee.”
Well that was a lost
cause. Mom would probably end up calling them both Dee Dee. She had trouble remembering my name, and
there is only one of me.
I could see Mom was
confused – not an unusual state for her. “Andrew, I’ve always wondered if
you would ever bring a girl home. I’ve never wondered if you would bring
two girls home at the same time. Is there something I should know?”
Maybe she’s not so dumb
after all. It could have been that both girls were looking at me with a
bit of a possessive air. They appeared serenely calm and lovely. I
on the other hand was a nervous wreck.
“Eh, Mom, Dee Dee and Donnie and I are like, uh, a permanent thing, if
you know what I mean.”
Mom said, “No, Andrew, I
don’t know what you mean. What exactly does ‘a permanent thing’ mean?”
The girls took over,
seeing that I was uncomfortable and coming across as if I were a teenager
meeting his girl’s father for the first time. This was my mother
after all. I’m the one who has to tell her that her son is a pervert.
Donnie said, “Mrs.
Adkins, Dee Dee and I have fallen in love with your
son.”
Dee Dee
said, “We know it’s unconventional, but it just happened, and we are too in
love with him to end it because it doesn’t adhere to convention.”
‘Convention’,
‘unconventional’, ‘adhere’ – I wasn’t sure this was the approach to take with my
mother who sometimes gets confused by Bob Barker on The Price is Right.
But Mom seemed to be following. Maybe it’s a woman thing.
Mom appeared to be
catching on. “There are two of you. Andrew wants you both?
Isn’t that a bit greedy, Andrew? You are both very lovely, but, ahem,
isn’t there an age difference?”
I said “Mom, there isn’t
anything you can say that we haven’t already thought of. We know there’s
an age difference. We know that there are in fact two women
involved. Those are things we are going to have to live with. I’m
very happily living with them right now.”
“You are already living
together? Oh my! Are there, well, are there marriage plans in the
future. Please, Andrew, tell me you only plan to marry one of them. No
offense, ladies.”
The girls smiled that
eye-lighting smile of theirs. Donnie said “Don’t worry Mrs. Adkins, Andrew will only marry Dee Dee.
But I will still be living with him. We are going to be legal, so don’t
worry about that. But I will be giving birth to your grandchildren too.”
Donnie said the right
thing as always. Mom had been worrying about me for years: no girlfriend,
no wife, no children, no grandchildren. She
might have been overwhelmed by the sudden abundance of girlfriends, but the
thought of grandchildren was enough to slow down the judgment process.
Mom said “Oh.
Grandchildren! You girls plan on having children? I thought that
you were perhaps a little old, no offense, but maybe the biological clock was
winding down.”
Dee Dee
said, “Mrs. Adkins, we are both pregnant. We are in our first trimester,
but before long you will be a grandmother again.”
Mom turned to
Donnie. “Oh my! Well it appears that a
marriage is in order. Dee Dee, will you be the
one marrying my Andrew? Or will it be the other, what’s her name again?”
Donnie said “It’s
Donnie. Me. I’m Donnie. Dee Dee is my
sister and yes, she will be the one marrying Andrew.”
Mom said, “Oh, this is
all very confusing, isn’t it.” She looked at Dee Dee.
“How do you feel about your sister marrying Andrew? Won’t you be
jealous?”
Dee Dee
said, “I’m Dee Dee and I’m marrying Andrew. But
Donnie won’t be jealous. It doesn’t matter which of us has the legal
document. We are both married to him in our hearts even now.”
Mom was talking herself
into a circle. “You’re both married to him? Isn’t that
illegal? Perhaps you had better check with a lawyer about all of
this. I’m sure I don’t know what I would do if I had two husbands to take
care of. Andrew are you sure about all of this?”
I said, “Mom, Dee Dee was saying that we may as well be married, because we
are so committed to each other. Get it? We aren’t married
yet. I am going to have a legal document saying that I am married to Dee Dee. But Donnie and I will act like we are married
because we will be, in our hearts.”
Mom decided to take her
usual approach to things that confused her. She punted. “That’s nice
dear. Would anyone like some iced tea?”
Donnie’s Story
We had our first argument
the other day. It was more a discussion than an argument, I suppose, but
there was certainly a difference of opinion.
Andrew knows perfectly
well that Dee Dee and I are vegetarians.
Granted, we will eat seafood occasionally, and we will eat dairy. We
still consider ourselves vegetarians. We would be pleased if Andrew would
join us in this, though we really can’t force him to do it.
But I suppose we became a
bit strident when Andrew went to the drive-thru at McDonalds and brought home a
Big Mac for his lunch. We of course were having a salad: watercress and
assorted greens with a light dressing topped with crumbled goat cheese.
Dee Dee
was trying to make Andrew understand our feelings about meat. “Andrew, do
you realize the number of acres it takes to grow beef? Do you know how
many more acres it takes to grow beef than it does to grow an equivalent amount
of vegetables?”
Andrew answered,
“No. Do you?”
That wasn’t the right
answer. “What I know or don’t know is irrelevant. You are eating yourself
into an early grave, supporting the worst excesses of corporate
Andrew wouldn’t take that
lying down. He said, “Now hold on, little lady. You can say what
you want about me. But you just better watch your tongue about the Big
Mac. I’ll have you know that the Big Mac is
I fully intend to be
there for it when Communists and environmental weirdoes like you attempt
to destroy an American icon!
Did you know that the Big
Mac is a semi-official unit of measure? Did you ever look at a package of
food, and it says there are six grams of fat? Is that a lot of fat?
Or is that just a little fat? I have no idea. What the hell is a
gram? They might as well say that the package of food has .0000325 metric
tons of fat. The number is just meaningless to me.
But some enterprising
newsperson or academic came up with the concept of using the Big Mac as a unit
of measure, the criteria by which all fat-enriched foods can be compared.
Suddenly everyone knew how much fat we were talking about. Everyone is
familiar with the Big Mac and its fat content.
So when some nutritional
expert says that your little watercress salad with the water and vinegar
dressing and a pound and a half of crumbled goat cheese has three times the fat
of a Big Mac, then everyone is on the same page!
You might say ‘the hell
with it’ and eat the salad anyway. But you also might realize the
insanity of it all and go ahead and eat three Big Macs instead. Suddenly
you’ve got options, choices. This country was founded on choices.
It’s people like you who
would undermine the very fabric of
When you bad-mouth the
Big Mac, you are bad-mouthing
And with that he exited the kitchen and
went down to the den to watch
Andrew has learned to
slip sex into every available waking moment. He is a time schedule
juggler par excellence. Half time of the ball game is one of
my favorite times to have sex.
If it’s a good game,
Andrew will plan our orgasms to start just before the kickoff in the second
half. If the game stinks, then Andrew will with a little encouragement forget
the second half and give someone a good hard fuck.
I really love a bad
football game.
Andrew is such a dear. He is willing
to do just about anything for us, and being pregnant, we have no qualms about
asking him for anything. That does not include running out to the grocery
store at
But we are eating a
lot. My God, I’ve gained thirty pounds. I am a blimp. So is
Donnie. Isn’t it odd that pregnant we continue to look alike, even to the
size of our waistline?
Andrew is probably happy
that our breasts have been getting bigger, but he won’t admit it. My cup
size has gone from A to B. He was playing baby with me last night. (It’s
just a little game he came up with, where he spends a lot of time suckling on
my nipple, then tries to go back into my womb, penis first.) Andrew does
have issues, but we try to play along with him. After all, he is trying
to service two horny pregnant women.
Anyway, he was suckling
on my nipple (this is a game I really like), when I mentioned that he
must love all the additional material he has to work with, now that my cup size
has increased.
He repeated that old saw,
“Anything larger than a mouth-full is a waste.”
I wasn’t buying
that. “Andrew, why don’t you just admit that you’ve learned to live with
small boobs, but would prefer something larger? We won’t be offended and
we won’t be surprised.”
Andrew actually laughed.
“You two are sure hung up on the size of your tits, aren’t you? How have
you bought into this American obsession with size? It’s designed to make
women feel inadequate, when they are perfectly adequate. You, my dear,
are the most perfectly adequate woman I’ve ever met. Your tits are two of
your best features. I revel in your tits. I could live off of your
tits. If you don’t have twins, I plan to use one side myself. If it
weren’t for your eyes, your face, your hair, your ass and your legs, I would be
looking at nothing but your tits all of the time. Oh, yeah, your back and
your shoulders warrant a lot of my attention too. Did you ever hear that
Gallagher line: Why do women wear a pair of panties but only one bra?”
I grabbed the back of his
head and pulled him back to my nipple. Andrew is one of these people who
given the opportunity can talk and talk and talk. He seems incapable of
winding down on his own sometime. I’ve found the best way to stop him is
to stick my tit in his mouth. It’s pleasant for both of us. I only
hope our baby is half as eager as Andrew is.
We’ve had an exciting few
months together. Andrew and I got married in a civil ceremony. Even
though I was a church member while growing up, I really have no religious affiliation
at this time. Andrew, of course, is an agnostic. He claims it is
difficult for him to believe in anything at all, let alone some
God-thing.
We were talking to Mrs.
Adkins (I still have trouble thinking of that dear little lady as ‘Mom’.)
She mentioned that he sang in a boy’s choir when he was little. That I would have loved to see. He had a beautiful
soprano voice, according to her. We even listened to a tape they had made
of the choir. After he had been in the choir a while (he was 9), his father
asked Andrew how he liked it.
Andrew said, “It’s great
except for that God thing.” That’s our Andrew.
So we had a civil
ceremony. Donnie was the maid of honor. We wore the same outfits,
the same shoes (Donnie and I). At some point in the ceremony when the
J.P. wasn’t looking, we casually switched places. No one noticed except
Andrew. He always knows who is who. He was glad. It was like
we were both marrying him. Donnie was the one who got to say, “I do.”
We spent our
honeymoon in
We rode the boat under
the falls and spent the rest of the time in our hotel making love. It was
just a typical honeymoon.
It’s always been my
contention that a honeymoon is not a time to go someplace special. One
spends the whole time in bed anyway. Why waste time and money going
somewhere that you aren’t even going to have time to enjoy?
Of course, who am I to
think such things? A honeymoon was the last thing I expected to go
on.
And yet here we are
married to a man we never even dreamed of. We never imagined this kind of
happiness was possible for us. Our needs were so unusual, and after all,
we were of a certain age. How could we even hope for such an
outcome? And then we found Andrew. I don’t believe in fate, and I
don’t believe that evolution has any predetermined path. But if neither
of those things is true, then how is all of this possible?
After Andrew quit his job
and moved down to
None of us liked
it. Once you have your husband in bed, you want him there
permanently. I know I did. So did Donnie. And Andrew
complained almost immediately that he didn’t like not going to bed with whoever
he wasn’t going to bed with that night.
There really was only one
solution: buy a bigger bed. That’s what we did. And from that point
forward, we all slept together. Our rule about male-female only remains
unbending.
And almost all of the
time our sex is still just one on one. In the mornings Donnie and I like
to wake Andrew up with a blowjob sometimes; well, most of the time. But
in the evenings it’s no oral sex for dear Andrew. We wouldn’t want to
tire him out, poor dear. After all, he does each of us almost every
night.
We are two horny pregnant girls.
We’ve found this man who somehow is very good at pleasing two horny pregnant girls
over and over again, night after night, week after week. We watch a lot
less television than we used to.
Andrew’s
Story
IAM what I am
It occurred to me that
standing behind the entire ‘next generation’ myth is that mysterious organization
the Institute for the Advancement of Mankind. The girls had told me that
it helped the twin families as much as it could but was running out of
cash. We knew its history, but what is its present?
The girls said that once
a year they received a mimeographed report that listed statistics such as the
number of births in the current year, number of births to date, and number of
current living twins. I asked them if they didn’t think it a bit odd that
this organization was sending out its report on a mimeographed form. They
said that the thought never crossed their minds.
The annual IAM newsletter
listed a
It’s something like seven
hundred miles from
We made about 500 miles
on Interstate 75 the first day and stopped somewhere near
I’m their husband, damn
it. You’d think I wouldn’t be getting a thrill from peaking at them when
they aren’t looking. But I do. They know it and they play me. It
gives them some kind of perverse pleasure to know that they are driving me
nuts. I personally don’t find it that amusing.
So we camped out at one
of those vanilla inns that are dotting the landscape of
You used to drive through
a small town in
But then the big chains
came in. They built the mall outside of town where the land is cheap and
there is plenty of parking. They put up the damn strip shopping centers
where the malls wouldn’t fit. They brought in their fast food
places. And for the upscale people they brought in the upscale food
chains to insure you could get the same damn dinner in
They ripped the
guts out of the small towns of
We are watching the
ruination and homogenization of
I don’t want to get out
of bed at my hotel in the morning and not be able to tell if I’m in
The next morning we put
in a couple of hundred miles I guess, using the very same interstate highway
that I so detest in theory but can’t avoid using in practice. Hypocrisy thy
name is Andrew. We picked up I16 somewhere south of
Well the IAM isn’t
actually in Statesboro. It’s like in suburban Statesboro.
That’s kind of like saying that it isn’t in the middle of nowhere, it’s in a
suburb of the middle of nowhere. It turns out that the foundation is
located in the original plantation of the very same Howard Johns who founded
IAM over 160 years ago. I bet it looked better then.
How was I able to drive
right to IAM? One word: Mapquest.
Or is that two words? So we found this obscure old dilapidated mansion
with multiple acres of land, all of which needed care. The place looked
like it had weathered one too many hurricanes.
There was a large front
porch with huge Grecian columns – with the paint pealing off. By the door
was a discrete sign which read “The Institute for the Advancement of Mankind”
in letters too small to read unless you walked right up to it. Donnie
opened the door.
We walked into the main
hallway of this antebellum mess. Dust was everywhere. The rug which
covered the floor was worn and frayed. There was an open door to our left
and we could see an old desk sitting in the middle of a small office.
Behind the desk was a little old lady with gray hair held in a bun. Her
wire-rimmed glasses gave her a bit of a John
I couldn’t begin to guess
her age, but she had to be eighty if she was a day. When she spoke her
voice wavered. Her lips seemed to be stuck together. I wondered when the
last time she spoke was.
“May I help you?” the old
lady asked.
I walked up to her
desk. “We’re looking for the Institute for the Advancement of
Mankind. I assume this is it. Could we talk to the person in
charge?”
The lady look
surprised. “This is the Institute. You saw the sign didn’t
you? What business do you have here?” She seemed to notice Donnie
and Deirdre for the first time. “Oh, are you two of the twins?”
Dee Dee
nodded her head. “Yes, ma’am. We are Donna
and Deirdre Martin. At least we were. Now I am Deirdre
Adkins. And who might you be?”
The old lady replied,
“I’m Doris Johns. If you want to know who runs the institute, you are
looking at her.”
I noticed an ancient
mimeograph machine sitting in a corner of the small office. There were
several rickety filing cabinets arrayed across the back wall. A manual
Remington typewriter was perched upon the desk. I idly wondered how much
all of this would fetch on the Antiques Roadshow.
I said, “Ms. Johns, where
is everyone else? Who helps you with all of this? After all, you
send flyers to forty thousand people.”
“I do it myself, young
man. Do ya’ll see anyone else? I only send out about ten to twelve
thousand flyers, since I send one per pair of twins, and I don’t send any to
children. Their mothers can keep them informed. I do about 1000 a
month. That and keeping track of births and deaths has kept me busy these
last sixty years.”
Donnie spoke up.
“But mathematically this is getting worse every year, isn’t it? How will
you be able to carry the increased workload as more babies are born and grow
up? And pardon me for saying so Ms. Johns, but aren’t you getting on in
years?”
Dee Dee
asked her, “Isn’t there anyone else to help you? Who is going to take
your place when you retire? Really, Ms. Johns, you shouldn’t be working
at your age. You should be enjoying your leisure time.”
Donnie said, “We aren’t
here for money, Mrs. Johns. We are sight-seeing, really. We just
wanted to come here and see how things were being handled. But it seems
to us you need help. Isn’t there anything we can do?”
My mind was
whirling. The thought occurred to me that if this ‘next generation’ thing
was going to get off of the ground, Doris Johns was not the person to get it
airborne. Maybe I wasn’t either, but at least I had a longer life
expectancy.
“Mrs. Johns, what would
it take to buy you out? We might be interested in running the institute
ourselves. After all, we are already part of it.” I didn’t look at
either Donnie or Dee Dee, assuming they were aghast
at my foolishness.
“Well, young man (and
what is your name, anyway?) I’m not so sure. I’ve got to live, you
know. I want to do a bit of traveling since I’ve never been further than
I thought it was time to
cover my ass. “Sorry for the lack of introductions. I’m Andrew
Adkins. Mrs. Johns, let me talk to my two
associates here before we go any further. We really just came to see the
institute. We hadn’t any intention of buying it. We’ll go outside
and talk things over, if that is alright with you.”
With that, the three of
us went outside and walked around the grounds. Dee Dee
was the first to voice her concerns. “Andrew, are you out of your fucking
mind? How are you going to run the institute? You don’t even know
what it does. You don’t know what information they have. What about
this house? It looks like it hasn’t been painted since the depression.”
I said, “But how do you
feel about it?”
Donnie actually defended
my position. “Andrew might be right. If we don’t do something, IAM is
dead. If IAM is dead then any chance for the next generation is dead with
it.”
I added, “We’ve got to
find out if this little burg can get high speed internet access. Can’t do
it without high speed access, you know.”
Dee Dee
asked “Is that some sort of fetish with you? We’re thinking about
changing our entire lives and you’re talking about high speed access?”
I tried to be
reasonable. “It’s true. We cannot do it without high speed
access. It’s a major consideration, because our primary method of dealing
with the twin population would be on the internet. I know I don’t plan to
send out ten thousand mimeographed flyers every year.”
Donnie said “
I grimaced. “Donnie
you know I was just a lowly computer geek. I’ve got maybe 40 grand put
away. How much do you think the old bat will need?”
Dee Dee
and Donnie are the business experts in the family. I don’t know from
nothing related to business. They, on the other hand, are PhD
candidates. I’ve no illusions related to who should be making the final
decisions about the family business.
Deirdre decided to be
less negative. “Right now
Donnie picked up the line
of reasoning. “We can make her an offer she can’t refuse.
I said, “How much is a
healthy chunk of cash? And how much is option one really going to
cost? Can we afford option one and still rebuild this old house?”
Dee Dee
chimed in. “
So we walked back into
the house to find
Dee Dee
said, “
I said, “Yes it does need
a bit of repair. We are very aware of that fact. But do you like
option two then? Could you set a dollar figure that you would be happy
with?”
Donnie said, “Okay.
But let’s make it the
And that’s how we became
IAM. It didn’t cost us a penny out of pocket! Oh, of course we had
to spend over a hundred and thirty grand to renovate the place. It needed
a new roof. Who woulda guessed?
It had to be
painted. The plumbing was designed by the Marquis de Sade.
Yes there was cable access. So we converted one of the downstairs rooms
into a computer center. We took a wall out between two bedrooms upstairs
to make a room for the three of us.
Yes, by this time we had
decided to combine our sleeping arrangements. It was just too difficult
not to sleep with both of them. I’m not talking sex, I’m talking
emotional comfort. So we have this enormous bed. I sleep in the
middle and Donnie and Dee Dee sleep on each
side.
My favorite position is
when they both cuddle up to me with a head on each shoulder. Cuddling two
pregnant women at once is sensory overload in action, especially in the morning
when I wake up to two beautiful girls going down on me.
Donnie’s Story
We’ve had to make some
concessions to our pregnancy, now that we are so far along. It’s just
more and more difficult for Andrew to be on top, if you know what I mean.
I like being on top
myself. My tits are bigger and more sensitive than they were
before. When I’m on top (especially at the start of our lovemaking) Andrew
can spend much more time taking care of my tits. It feels so good.
I can tell that Andrew is
getting nervous about the impending birth. He’s never been with a
pregnant woman before, and from his perspective we look like we could give
birth at any second. We are big.
Andrew was going down on
me. I love it when he goes down on me. He has an amazing tongue,
does our Andrew. He starts so slowly, licking my thighs, feeling my tits,
avoiding my center until I have to demand that he pay attention to my
pussy. He can be very cruel that way. He likes to hear us beg.
But when he finally
reaches my pussy! It hurts so good. To
feel that long tongue of his sliding deep inside me! God’s in his heaven,
all’s right with the world. And then he starts with my clitoris. He
always avoids my clit until I almost have to force him to pay attention to
it.
He was being his typical
torturing self, drawing out my pleasure, avoiding my climax, making me
crazy. It suddenly occurred to me that I could exact a measure of
revenge. I was close, but I knew it was too early from Andrew’s point of
view. He was going to bring me up only to bring me down a little.
It isn’t that I mind so much. After all, when he does this my climax is
beyond belief. But I just wanted to tweak him a little bit.
He was head first between
my legs, licking my pussy, occasionally sucking my clit between his licks (I
love that one). Suddenly I cried out, “Andrew! My water’s breaking”
He dove off of the bed
onto the floor. Perhaps he was afraid of drowning in amniotic
fluid. It was so funny! I was laughing, my tits were bouncing,
Andrew first looked confused, then angry.
He said, “So your water
isn’t breaking, is it?”
I couldn’t stop
laughing. “If it makes you feel better, I have to pee.” And with
that I hopped out of bed and waddled into the bathroom. I did have to
pee.
I came back into bed,
still laughing. I’m not sure that Andrew saw the humor in the situation.
I made him lie on his back and climbed right on. And then I had what I’ve
come to think of as a laugh fuck.
Maybe I’m
perverted. Or maybe it harkens back to the first night I met
Andrew. We had been caught in the act by Deirdre as she came out of her
shower. That was when Andrew didn’t even know that I existed.
When he finally
understood the situation, that he had made love to me thinking I was Dee Dee, he started to laugh. He was still deeply
imbedded in my pussy. And Andrew goes deeper than any man I had known
before.
But then he started to
make jokes about the situation: this was a world record for meeting, fucking
and coming to orgasm. It may have been a world record, but meanwhile we
were still firmly linked together by that magnificent dick. And he was
laughing. And I guess maybe I was laughing too.
And the laughter felt so good as his rock hard manhood massaged the walls of my
pussy. It made short stabbing motions, like little explosions inside
me. Right in mid-laughter I climaxed. That might have been another
world’s record, I don’t know.
It was a laugh
fuck. So here we were again, Andrew inserting that long fat dick of his
into my pussy. Well, perhaps it was me doing the inserting. He was
flat on his back.
Even though he had looked
a little foolish diving onto the floor (very foolish come to think of it), he
maintained his erection. I’m beginning to think it is an aberration of
Andrew’s. No one can maintain an erection like Andrew can. When he
is with us, just a flash of thigh, or perhaps a look at our derriere, and
Andrew is hard. We do play with him that way. He tortures us with
his tongue. We torture him by making his dick rise and fall. At
some point it refuses to fall, and that’s when the game ends.
It feels so good to be
impaled on Andrew’s dick. I’m just a big fat thing, but Andrew doesn’t
seem to mind. And I was laughing. It was so funny watching him hit
the floor. He’s so gullible sometimes. It’s hard to believe that he
can be so innocent when he is so smart.
I got into a laughing
jag. I do that sometimes, especially now that I’m pregnant. My
emotions are a bit out of control. There I was, riding Andrew, laughing
while my tits bounced (before they couldn’t bounce), and my pussy jiggled up and
down on his enormous erection. How is it possible to laugh and cum at the
same time? Believe me, it is.
I was laughing, and then
I was screaming. Andrew hadn’t been laughing until then (I think his
feelings were hurt by my little practical joke). But when I screamed,
then he started to laugh. I guess he thought I looked funny.
God it felt good.
His laughter was pushing me higher and higher. I started squeezing his
dick with my pussy, applying more and more pressure as his dick moved in short
spastic strokes.
I leaned forward and then
Andrew’s dick was massaging my clitoris. I was in heaven! I
couldn’t help myself. I ground against him, our pubic bones tight against
each other. I was trying to maximize the sensation and it was sensational.
Suddenly Andrew’s hips
plunged up, lifting my fat pregnant body six inches off of the bed, still fully
impaled on his gorgeous cock. It was too much. I was screaming
again. I felt him spurt inside me. I tried to make it last. I
was screaming and grinding, grinding and screaming. My eyes were closed,
my head swinging back and forth. God I must look like hell.
And then it was
over. I collapsed; a huge pregnant thing on my loving husband’s
chest. He put his arms around me, pulling me tighter to him. He loves
me!
I’m fat and disgusting
but he thinks I’m sexy. We cuddled for a long time, just enjoying the
closeness. I love the feel of his skin, so soft and child-like. But
beneath the softness are the muscles of a man. He only shows his soft
side to us.
I knew that later tonight
it would be Deirdre’s turn. I envied her, knowing that she would get to
be close to our lover. I know I’m being greedy. I get more sex than
the vast majority of women. How many women get laid almost every day of
their lives? And get eaten out a minimum of several times a week?
And try every possible sexual position (currently limited by our pregnant
status)?
And there are two of
us. By simple mathematics it is easy to see that Andrew gets twice as
much sex as I do. I just don’t know how he does it. No wonder he’s
so relaxed. If I were him I would be comatose. We’ve got to get what we
can now, because in a few more weeks the sex will have to stop.
Poor Andrew, cut off in
the prime of his life. I hope he really, really likes blow jobs.