Author: Thinking Horndog
Title: She's Pregnant!
Part: 1 of 17
Universe: She's Pregnant!
Summary: I went out to find a hooker for Manny's birthday -- and got a LOT
more than I bargained for!

Keywords: MF MFF MM oral anal voy humil exhib cuck ir

She's Pregnant!

Chapter 1


	"She's pregnant!"

	"Yeah, no shit.  What do you want for a hundred bucks?  Catherine
Zeta Jones?"

	I looked back from the not-too-prosperous-looking pimp to the two
women in the back seat of the minivan.  The description could have matched
either of them, but I'd been looking at the one on the left, who was still
holding her maternity dress up over her swollen breasts.  She had the big
brown areolas that women tend to get when they're pregnant -- and a big belly
with that vertical stripe down the center that made you wonder if the poor
thing was going to split.  She was petite, otherwise, and kind of cute --
brunette, not hard to look at.  You couldn't even see her snatch for the
belly; for some odd reason, my attention was attracted by her red-painted
toes.  At the moment, she was barefoot -- naturally.  The girl next to her
was Filipino -- and except for color, they could have been twins.  Both of
them had that smile -- the tremulous one with the haunted eyes that said, "Be
nice to me, Mister, because if you aren't, he won't be..."

	"The holes still work," the pimp recoverd my attention.  "You
interested?"

	What was Manny going to think if I dragged in a couple of pregnant
chicks?  "What else have you got?"

	The pimp waved at the girls and they lowered their dresses.  "Nothing
else in that price range -- or even close."

	For the record, I believed him.  I was as nervous as a cat at the dog
pound; I didn't do this kind of thing and this was the type of transaction
where you EXPECTED to get stiffed.  The good news was that, pregnant or not,
she was in my price range -- in fact, they both were.

	My name is Don, if that matters.  I'm generally a straight-arrow,
John Q. Citizen type.  I have a fairly decent job doing tech support at a
chemical company.  I'm twenty-eight and a little bald on top already.  Women
don't even see me, so I don't have one -- no girlfriend, no wife, nothing.
Never have.  In the place of one, I have quiet desperation, my right hand,
and porn.  I've got a buddy named Manny with similar issues who just happened
to have reached his thirtieth birthday and here I was, trying to negotiate
something special for him -- for both of us, actually.  A friend of a friend
gave me a chat room handle which led to a phone number -- which led to
another phone number, which led to various other cloak and dagger crap, which
led me to be sitting in the back of a minivan with a black pimp and two
pregnant women, wondering when someone was going to cut to the chase and pull
a gun or a knife -- or a badge.  That was always possible.  I could become
the town's latest sex offender, which would increase my chances with the
ladies a LOT!

	That's a pretty good explanation of why I was nervous...

	Pregnant or not, pricing was better than acceptable -- which caused
me to worry when the shit would hit the fan.  Manny would probably forgive me
for the whole pregnancy thing when warm lips enveloped his meat; the trick
was probably going to be surviving this meeting intact.  I looked from one of
the young women to the other.  "How long?"

	"Business is slow.  What do you want?  We'll come up with a price.
This pair -- well, you can see the problem with them."

	"Yeah."  They were really pregnant -- which said they probably
weren't cops, although the pimp or his driver could still be.  That left the
dangers involved in farting around with criminals -- which were bad enough.
"All night?"

	"Buck and a half.  It's a discount, but then I don't have to fucking
babysit them."

	I grunted.  That was fine -- I had five hundred in my wallet and the
same in my car; three hundred worked.  I sat wondering if I could get greedy.

	The pimp misread me.  "Awright -- we'll go the hundred."

	I covered my surprise.  "What do I get?"

	"Whatever you want.  I don't give a fuck.  If you kill her, dispose
of her yourself."  The girls both flinched, which caused me to believe that
he was serious.

	"What can you do me for two nights?" I asked.

	The pimp squinted at me, realizing that he'd probably low-balled
himself.  "Why two nights?"

	I managed a smile.  "I find that nothing makes you want pussy like
getting some.  After one night, I'll want more -- after two, I'll probably be
set for a while."

	The pimp nodded.  "Friday's the weekend."  He was going to shake me
down for a higher rate.  Okay, maybe I'd have to say no.  I frowned at him,
waiting.

	Again, he mistook my indecision for something else.  "Yeah, awright.
They're not covering their upkeep.  One eighty -- either one."  I frowned
again -- this was too easy.  He frowned back, "What the fuck?"

	"Just surprised, that's all."

	The pimp looked bothered.  "Let's talk outside."

	I shrugged.  Outside the car, someone might notice the gun or knife
play...  I got out behind him.  He leaned against the car and said, "Lookit,
I'll be honest -- those two were a bad investment.  They started out okay,
but the bigger they get, the harder it is to peddle them.  They're a
specialty thing now, and there isn't a lot of demand.  Neither one of the
cunts has turned a trick in a week.  If they don't show something soon, I'm
gonna have to drop 'em from the inventory.  You like one over the other?  I
might be able to keep one a couple more days -- that'd simplify the
choice..."

	I put on my best poker face; if I was reading this guy right, being
dropped from the inventory meant they were going to end up dead!  "What if
they turn a profit for a couple of days?"

	He picked his teeth.  "It won't last."  Then his eyes lit.  "Why
don't I just sell you one?"

	"What?  I'm not set up with a basement dungeon, Man!" I erupted.

	"No need -- they're both broken in.  It doesn't take much to keep
them in line.  I do it by telling them I'll punch them in the gut a few times
so they'll miscarry.  I got them from this Armenian guy who worked on 'em
until they were nice and docile."

	"And after the babies are born?" I asked, incredulous.

	"Hey, you've got the kids, then.  Both of them are big into
motherhood -- they won't abandon them.  Darla's kid is by the love of her
life, or whatever, who caught it from a roadside bomb in Iraq -- it's her
memento, or whatever.  Luz... Shit, Luz barely speaks English -- I don't
fucking know why, but she's been real good."

	"What the fuck would I do with them?"

	"Make 'em clean houses or something if you don't want to put 'em out.
I can't do that shit -- bad for morale among the other girls."  He eyed me.
"Five hundred.  Pretty decent for permanent unmarried cooze."

	"What if they're too much trouble?" I asked.  This was deep...

	"Put 'em on the street.  Somebody will pick 'em up.  The competition
will -- but they won't last long; I'm soft-hearted."  He grinned.  Cocking
his head, he said, "You could sell the kids -- but you'd have to kill the two
of 'em first."

	"I'm not really set up for that," I told him.  "I'm just looking for
pussy!"

	"Yeah, sorry.  I hate wet work."

	I wanted to puke!  Holding the poker face, I said, "Five hundred?
Apiece?"

	"Both?"  He looked surprised.

	"If it's as simple as you say it is..."

	"Hey, worst case, you fuck their brains out and put 'em on the street
for someone else to clean up," he replied, shrugging.

	Unbelievable...  "Get Darla out.  I'll give you money for her.  Give
me a couple of minutes and I'll be able to pay for Luz, too."

	I watched him think about screwing me over -- but I was doing him a
favor.  He opened the van door.  "Darla!  Move your pregnant ass out here!"
Darla got out, with some difficulty.  I opened my wallet and extracted three
hundreds and four fifties and handed them to him.  "Meet your new owner.  He
knows how to deal with your shit, so don't give him any."  Darla nodded and
moved next to me, rubbing her swollen belly nervously.

	I pointed at my car.  "Get in the Chevy."  She nodded and waddled
off.  "What else do I need to know?"

	He shrugged.  "The Armenian trained them.  A veiled threat is as good
as a slap in the mouth -- especially if you DO slap 'em once in a while.  The
Armenian probably kills off twenty percent of his stock with no warnings as
object lessons to the rest.  I don't know what else he does, but I've heard
tales.  They've never given me any trouble -- no bitch I ever bought from the
Armenian has."

	"Give me a minute to collect the payment for Luz," I told him.
Seeing the way he looked at me, I added, "It's all that there is in the
kitty, so you have nothing to gain...  I only came out to buy a couple of
shots of leg, remember, not start a white slavery business."  I think I
actually got some respect from him.  I backed away warily, going to the car
and opening the left rear door to fish the envelope with my backup money in
it out of the pocket behind the front seat.  Darla was settling into the
passenger seat in front.  "Just sit there and don't do anything stupid," I
told her.  She nodded.

	I headed back to the van.  When I was about halfway there, he opened
the van door and yelled, "Luz!  Come out of there, you little cocksucker!"
That put her little brown feet on the parking garage floor about the time I
got there.  She bent over and collected two pair of flip-flops from inside
the van, displaying an ass no doubt widened by pregnancy.  It looked good to
me.  I just handed the guy the envelope.  He glanced inside, not bothering to
count it.  "You'd have been a sucker, wouldn't you?" he asked.

	I shrugged.  "I dunno.  I wasn't wildly excited.  If you're asking
would I have paid this for one, maybe, given the circumstances -- but you
needed to get rid of both, anyway, right?"

	"Yeah."  He pursed his lips.  "Pleasure doing business with ya."  He
turned to Luz.  "Luz.  Car."  He pointed.  She started waddling.  I backed
away warily (not that I could have done shit), but he waited until I'd
reached the car and then said, "Oh, yeah -- here's their shit," and went to
the back of the van and withdrew two bags, dropping them on the floor, then
climbed into the van; it pulled away, and no firearms appeared.  No flashing
blue lights came on, either.  I'd traded a thousand dollars for the lives of
two pregnant women; what was I going to get for that money, exactly?  Jail
time?  On the surface, the transaction merely resembled more white slavery...
I couldn't claim to be as pure as the driven snow, here -- I came out looking
for a prostitute, and I got two...  I went over and cautiously collected the
bags and brought them back to the car.

	Luz opened the back door and got in, belting herself in securely --
with a fatalistic lack of concern over future events, it seemed to me.  We
could be going for a ride to the sausage factory, or to view some shallow
graves from close up -- but she was going to get there uninjured.  I opened
the bags and checked them -- clothes -- then threw them in the trunk, and got
in and fired up and pulled out of the garage, turning left -- heading nowhere
special, since I had no idea where I was and I wasn't headed home.  I needed
to know if we were being followed, at least....  Darla was sitting quietly,
but there was something in her eyes...  "Okay, talk..."

	"Anything you want, Mister!" Darla burst out.  "You got it!  We were
dead, you know?  If you looked us over and said no, we were headed for the
city limits -- and Luz and I weren't coming back!  That goon of his has this
neck-breaking twist he likes to brag about -- and he was going to practice on
us!"

	"You could have made a run for it, I guess..." I offered.

	"Are you kidding?  You've seen me walk!  A little old lady in a wheel
chair could catch me!  I'd have just pissed him off and he'd have hurt me for
a while first..."

	I couldn't see anyone following me; unless I was the target of some
superspy TV cop thing, I was probably in the clear for now...  I glanced at
her.  "Okay, look.  I frankly don't know what to tell you, because all I want
you to know is whatever it takes to keep you from giving me a lot of trouble.
I'll say this about that -- I was offered several easy suggestions for how to
deal with you if you give me any crap -- some of which seemed pretty damned
simple to execute.  Are we good so far?"

	"Uh huh."

	"Things are... nebulous.  I didn't show up with the intention of
taking you off Whatshisname's hands." I related.  "That means I don't know
what I've gotten into and who knows what I'll do if I get a lot of crap from
the pair of you.  I guess you could say that your previous owner was a
wholesaler and I'm a retailer.  There are going to be changes, but I'm not
sure you'll notice right away.  I put out a decent chunk of change for you so
I'm going to want you to do who, what, when, where, and how I want for a
while.  Did you do any domestic shit for Whatshisname?"

	"Domestic shit?" Darla blinked.

	"Cook, clean, laundry, yada, yada, yada..." I replied.

	"Oh.  Not much.  We kept ourselves together, mostly.  He had some
chicks who handled that for him, I guess," Darla related.

	"Well, it'll be added to your other duties, I figure.  I'll be
keeping an eye on the rat poison," I grunted.

	"So we're not going somewhere to do a snuff video, then..." Darla
mused.

	"Not hardly," I replied.  "You do birthday parties, though.  It's my
friend Manny's birthday, and you two are the present, for starters."  I
sighed.  "I wish I could believe a fucking thing he said -- it would sure
make life easier."

	"What do you want?"

	"I want you to do what you've no doubt been doing -- make me and my
friends happy.  I want you to behave yourselves and not go running up and
down the hallways of my apartment building telling everyone in sight that
you're a slave and you're being forced to fuck against your will and would
someone call the cops?  I want to stick my dick in you several times over the
next few days, and I want to enjoy it and I want to be able to believe that
you do, too.  After that, I have no idea; I certainly can't expect a couple
of decades of unmarried domestic bliss, but it would be nice..."

	"When do you plan to kill us?"

	"It's currently not on the agenda.  As your previous owner said to
me, 'I'm not into wet work.'  The longer you behave yourself and make my life
easy, the longer I don't have to think about such things -- and I never want
to, actually."

	"Sounds too good to be true."

	"Then I probably fucked up and let too much slip already," I sighed,
"which means I'll probably end up in jail for rescuing you from certain
death, just because I'm a pushover.  Look, the future is kind of dim and
murky for all of us, but I don't THINK it's the inside of an oblong box."  I
started looking for a way to get pointed toward my apartment.  "This is gonna
sound like the stupidest fucking question..." I grunted.  "He said you don't
run and you don't fight and you don't have to be tied to the furniture at
night.  How much of that is true -- like I can afford to believe you."

	Darla shrugged.  "Where would we go?  Tying us to the furniture
wouldn't be fun, since I have to pee about six times a night..."

	"Somebody is looking for you, right?"

	"You mean besides the cops and pimps?  Mister, we've both been picked
up once or twice -- and we kept our mouths shut.  That means we're regular
whores as far as the cops are concerned.  My family isn't looking -- they
disowned me when I moved out to be with Darrin -- and Darrin is dead, which
is how I fell into this hole.  Luz is legal by marriage, but her American
hubby was more of a purchasing agent and pass-through than anything else --
she went straight to the Armenian.  If we turn up on the street in THIS town,
we'll just end up in someone else's stable -- and if we don't produce..."
Darla shuddered.  "Somewhere else it probably wouldn't make any difference."
She paused for a moment.  "So you want a couple of housewhores.  That's the
best offer I've had in months.  Does it come with a medical plan?"  She
rubbed her belly.

	"Probably, as long as I stay out of jail to pay premiums," I
muttered.

	"Luz."  Darla turned in the seat and sat there, rubbing her belly
under her maternity dress while she rattled off some pidgin Spanish or
something.  The next thing I knew there were hands on my chest and a lot of
long, black silky hair on my neck and a voice husked, "I'm gonna take such
good care of you, Baby..."

	"Tell her to put her seatbelt back on -- she doesn't want to distract
me and get us all killed!" I croaked.  Darla rattled off something and Luz
sat back.  "What did you tell her?" I asked.

	"That we weren't going to a studio for a snuff video and that we'd
probably live through the night," Darla replied.  "Oh, and that you were her
new owner."

	"She gets happy easy," I muttered.

	Darla shrugged.  "You learn to.  I've had the shit kicked out of me
so many times, I've learned to expect it -- like breakfast.  Except I don't
EXPECT breakfast any more."

	I felt sad.  She was small and soft and fragile -- and very pregnant
-- and had been treated probably worse than I would treat a dumb animal.  Her
hair was up in a bun and little soft tendrils hung loose below it, making her
look vulnerable.  Now, if I just didn't have to discover the hard way that
she knew eight different ways to kill someone with a butter knife...

	"There isn't going to be a lot of trust between us to start," I said.
"From where I sit, I don't see any reason for you to like me or to be happy
with your lot.  That makes you a danger.  You need to do stuff to earn my
trust -- and I need to do stuff to earn yours.  I'm being up-front, here; I
don't want you disappointed if I don't let you play in the knife drawer."

	Darla nodded.  "Okay, I get that."

	Nobody said much for the twenty minutes that it took to get to my
place; Luz and Darla went back and forth once and they could have been
deciding how to carve me up, but it didn't happen.  The security guy got a
kick out of me arriving with two pregnant chicks carrying suitcases; I
thought about making excuses for them, but didn't bother.  He could entertain
himself trying to figure it out -- and would probably not even get close to
the truth.  Once in my apartment, I had a problem; pregnant or not, I wasn't
ready to fence off two women from everything that might cause me physical
injury.  I waved them onto the couch and then wandered the apartment, trying
to figure out what the Hell to do.  "What's wrong?" Darla asked.

	"I'm not set up for prisoners.  I'm not set up to be able to deny
access to anything dangerous to a couple of adult women.  I'm trying to
figure out what the Hell I'm going to do."

	Darla shrugged.  "Got any rope?"

	"No."

	"Zip ties?"

	"No."

	"Velcro?"

	"Yeah..."  I had some Velcro for cable management of my home
machines.  I went and got it.  Darla sat forward on the couch.  "You want to
go for behind the back."

	I sighed.  "Am I being an idiot here?"

	"Well, no -- but you're wasting your time," Darla replied.  "If I
have to advise you on security, it won't take me long to forget to tell you
something."

	Luz lit off for a moment with a stream of chatter.  "What was that?"
I asked.

	"She's bitching me out," Darla related.  "You can't wipe when you pee
with your hands behind you."

	"And you pee a lot.  I know."  I sighed.  How did they do this in the
movies?

	Darla was grinning.  "We could pinky-swear or something."

	"Yeah."  I sighed.  "Fuck this shit.  After tonight, if you want to
walk, just do it.  But I want some of what I paid for, first, you know?"

	"Sure."

	"Good."  I tossed the Velcro on the end table.  "I need to make a
phone call.  You'll be entertaining in an hour.  Dig in your suitcases and
change and clean up and pee -- whatever."


	"Okay."  Darla gabbled at Luz and the pair headed for my bedroom.

	"Damn!  Can you stay in sight?  I haven't woman-proofed that room!" I
erupted.

	"Come in and watch, Silly!  You own us!"

	"Yeah..."  So I stood in the door watching two pregnant women dig in
their suitcases and stuff while I called Manny...

	"Manny!"

	"What the fuck, Don!"

	"Get your ass over to my place."

	"And what the fuck for?"

	"Got you a birthday present."

	"It'll wait."

	"Not this," I told him.  "It's got an expiration date.  Turns into a
pumpkin at midnight.  Besides, I've got a twelve-pack of your favorite brew."

	"Not in the mood."

	"Man, if you miss this, you'll be kicking yourself until your thirty-
first birthday!"

	"Shit.  You make it sound like..."

	"Does it start with a 'p'?"

	Dead silence.  Then, "What?"

	"I was just guessing..."

	"Donnie?  You didn't, did you?"

	"Didn't what?"

	"You didn't hire a..."

	"I refuse to answer that question on the grounds that it may tend to
incriminate me."

	"Fifteen minutes!  No, fuck!  Twenty!  I gotta shower!" The phone
went dead.