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5-STAR POSTS!!     |
23/06/2019
I'm Stephen, a successful business owner and former academic. My wife, Taylor, is a model. You wouldn't know her. She's not famous by any measure, but she usually has steady work and she loves what she does. You should know right off the bat that Taylor cuckolds me. She had a very active dating life when I met her, and she never changed. I knew she was way out of my league, but I kept pursuing her. Finally, she married me. She never came right out and said it, but she acted as if I ought not object to her seeing other guys and dating as she pleased, married or not. In her mind, no need to make a big deal about it. I guess I felt the same way, because I never objected.
My wife keeps herself in great shape, but over a period of a few weeks last year I noticed her flat midriff was forming a cute but definite bump. I was pretty sure she was pregnant. She never mentioned it to me, her own husband, but if you knew Taylor, that wouldn't surprise you.
When her baby bump became too obvious to ignore, I decide to say something. As we were lying in bed together one morning, I reached over and gently caressed her bump as I said,"Taylor, don't you think it's time we talked about this?"
"What's there to talk about? I'm pregnant, obviously."
"Oh, I don't know; for starters, have you been to the doctor?"
"Of course. Do you think I'm a moron? Everything's good."
"Ok, I'm glad, happy to hear it."
I psyched myself up for a minute and then asked her what was really on my mind.
"So who's the father?"
"Why, you are, silly! You're my husband."
"I mean, by whom did you conceive?"
" 'By whom did you conceive?' Christ, Stephen, you sound like a bad professor. A bad movie director's idea of a bad professor."
"Can't you just be straight with me for once? Who was he?"
"You and I have sex. Probably you."
"We have intercourse very rarely, Taylor. And besides, you always make me wear a condom when we do."
"Condoms can leak."
I gave up. I knew I wasn't going to get an answer.
Finally, Taylor said, "Don't sulk, Stephen. I hate that. It's childish. You're going to be a father. That's all that matters. You'll be a great father.............. and you know I love you."
Hearing those words softened my heart and hardened my prick. I lifted the sheet and started planting kisses on Taylor's tummy. She said, "That's my boy," as her fingers touseled my hair.
After kissing almost every inch of her bump, I moved down between her legs. Her scent was a rich, enticing musk, and she had that "early morning" pungent taste I was so familiar with. Taylor's pregnancy had already made her labia thick and dark, and they looked prominent and proud through her trim but silky bush. I felt like I was worshiping a goddess-queen from some ancient, matriarchal culture. I started rubbing my throbbing prick against her leg and felt my pre-come start to drip. Taylor stopped me, saying she didn't have time to clean up a mess. With that she pulled my head up. The spell was broken. She roused herself and got out of bed to start her day.
Later on as she was dressing, I asked,"I almost forgot. Are we having a boy or a girl?"
Amused, she said, "Stephen, you're nothing but a question machine today. I'm going to let it be a surprise."
A few weeks later, Taylor said she wanted to convert a room where I stored my old stuff from my bachelor days into a nursery. I told her I had some ideas and could help, but she said, "No. I want to do this myself. I'll hire the workmen. Don't interfere, and don't get sentimental about the junk in there. I want you to promise not to go up there until I show it to you. It'll be a surprise."
I promised. Over the weeks the workmen came and did their jobs. I had no idea what the nursery would finally look like, but Taylor has good taste, and I knew it'd be nice. It did bother me though, to see the workmen come down stairs to toss all my old college and childhood memorabilia into the trash bin. But, I reasoned, I was entering a new stage of life, and it was time to let go of the past.
One weekend morning in Taylor's ninth month I overheard her on the phone, saying to someone, "Mmmmmm, can't wait to see you babe. I'll be there about noon."
I was worried that she was too far along in her pregnancy and told her that maybe she better stay home.
"I'll be fine, Stephen."
"Look, I know you're going to meet somebody. Do you think that's a good idea when you're so close to your due date?"
"I've read a lot of articles saying that sex can induce labor. I've got to give birth soon. Being this big is driving me crazy."
I told her it was a myth that sex induced labor. "And besides," I said, "you could have sex with me right here and now, you know."
Taylor, brushing her hair in the mirror, only rolled her eyes and shook her head.
So I let her go. I spent half the time trying to keep my mind off where she was, and the other half masturbating about what she might be doing.
She came back a little after 4 pm, her clothes and hair disheveled. She had a blissed-out, well-fucked, satisfied look on her face, but she also seemed a little unsteady as she went to our bedroom and took off all her clothes. She told me to shut the blinds. She said she was achy all over and wanted to lie down awhile. There was still enough sun coming through the edges of the blinds to cast some light across the bed. There was Taylor, totally nude, lying flat on her back with her legs lightly spread. Her bush was wet and matted, her labia dark red and puffy. I could just make out that she'd already dripped a wet spot on the sheet. I couldn't help myself. I climbed between her legs and began gently kissing and trying to soothe her sore, battered, leaking pussy. Often when I tried this after she'd been on a date, she'd push me away, but not this time. She whimpered, and reached down to carress my head as I tried to comfort and clean her. Suddenly her pussy spasmed and pushed a load of somebody's come straight into my mouth. In about thirty seconds it happened again. Then a torrent of watery fluid came out and flooded my face. Her water broke.
"That's it, we've got to get to the hospital now. I can tell it's time," she said.
I got her dressed and in the car as fast as I could. On the way to the hospital she giggled and said, "Your face and hair are a mess." I got my handkerchief and did my best to clean myself with one hand while driving with the other.
I carried her in the hospital just in time. She started going into labor almost immediately. Before I knew it I was wearing scrubs and a mask and was standing by Taylor as she lay back with her legs spread. Before she even had a chance to get comfortable, I could see the baby's head start to crown. His or her hair was dark, and had a different texture than Taylor's straight hair. I didn't have time to ponder that long, because with a little help by the doctor, the baby came out in a quick "whoosh."
Well, at least now I knew one thing about the man by whom she conceived: He was black. The baby was a boy with medium brown skin, but decidedly African facial features.
I noticed that all talking in the delivery room stopped. Everybody had seen what I saw. I could even tell that one of the nurses was blushing beneath her mask. But they all continued their jobs in a professional manner.
Taylor wasn't the least bit embarrassed. She looked tired, but there was a definite glint in her eyes as she gazed at me and said, "Surprise."
The next few minutes were a blur. Then all of a sudden I heard the doctor say, "All right, here's the second crown."
I thought, "What? Second crown?"
I looked at Taylor. She grinned, and silently mouthed the word, "Twins."
Then even faster than the first, a baby girl was born, with features more like Taylor's, but with darker skin than the boy's.
"Surprise number two," Taylor said.
The doctors let me cut the umbilical cords. I was still stunned and didn't know how much time was passing. I rember the doctors pronouncing them healthy, and then I remember Taylor breastfeeding them both, and I cannot deny, she and the babies looked incredibly beautiful. At some point, Taylor had someone take a picture of me holding them. Taylor never used my name that whole day. She kept calling me "Daddy" and every once in a while she'd say, "You're really going to have your hands full now, Daddy." Of course I put on a happy face, and in a sense I was happy. Part of me was proud of Taylor for not being at all embarrased, part of me was angry, and I don't know what else I was feeling.
As I was watching Taylor breastfeed, a nurse came in with the birth certificates. I hesitated only a little. Taylor frowned at me and said, "Sign them. You're their father." So I signed the certificates, thereby committing myself to supporting my wife's biracial twins from now until they were at least eighteen. Knowing myself though, I was sure I'd put them both through college too. Right or wrong, I still felt happy and excited. Nervous, angry, and scared of what people would think, to be sure, but happy and excited too.
Later when the nurses were gone and I was alone with Taylor, I figured she might just be woozy enough to tell me by whom she conceived if I asked nicely and reassured her that I was glad to be the babies' father, no matter what.
She said, "Ok, you remember that time last September when I flew to Atlanta to do those magazine ads? I was in the office of a black corporate exec and he came on to me. He was married, but he was such a handsome, sexy hunk, I couldn't say no. His whole body looked like chiseled marble. I was going commando that day, so he just lifted my skirt, bent me over his desk and spread my legs, and then his cock, oh my god, his cock almost split me apart. We did it right there in his office, twice. Both times when he came he just kept shooting his sperm in me, stream after stream after long thick stream. So much of it ran back out of me. And as soon as I left his office I bought a disposable douche and hurried to my motel room and used it. I really did. I was afraid it wouldn't make any difference,and obviously it didn't. I was taking a break from the pill, and I knew I was due to ovulate around this time. And then later when I found out I released not one but two eggs, and his sperm had forced their way inside them both, even after I'd tried to wash his semen away, well, Stephen, I couldn't even think about aborting them. It's like it was absolutely meant to be. You can understand that, can't you, honey?"
"Yes, Taylor, I understand. Thanks for telling me."
I asked her if she'd thought of names for the babies.
She said, "I have to admit, you've been really sweet to me through all this. As my gift to you in return, I'm going to name them for you. Honey, meet your son, Stephen Jr. and your daughter, Stephanie."
I took them from her arms and kissed my son and daughter, my namesakes.
When we all got home, Taylor finally took me up to the remodeled room and had me close my eyes. She pushed me in and said, "Ok, open 'em."
I opened my eyes and there was the beautiful nursery, completely outfitted for two babies. There were the prerequisite ducks and bunnies on the walls and among other things, a rocking chair, a chest of drawers, a changing table, and two beautiful mahogany cribs with mobiles above them. Between the two the cribs was a sturdy cot.
Taylor saw me staring at the cot and said, "That's for you, honey. You see, I have to get myself back in shape and get a lot of rest so I'll look good for my photoshoots. For a few months at least, you're going to sleep in here and care for the babies. You'll feed them, comfort them, and change their diapers while I literally get my beauty sleep."
What could I say but, "Yes, darling."
FUCK MY WIFE!
CLICK BELOW TO FIND A BULL
My wife keeps herself in great shape, but over a period of a few weeks last year I noticed her flat midriff was forming a cute but definite bump. I was pretty sure she was pregnant. She never mentioned it to me, her own husband, but if you knew Taylor, that wouldn't surprise you.
When her baby bump became too obvious to ignore, I decide to say something. As we were lying in bed together one morning, I reached over and gently caressed her bump as I said,"Taylor, don't you think it's time we talked about this?"
"What's there to talk about? I'm pregnant, obviously."
"Oh, I don't know; for starters, have you been to the doctor?"
"Of course. Do you think I'm a moron? Everything's good."
"Ok, I'm glad, happy to hear it."
I psyched myself up for a minute and then asked her what was really on my mind.
"So who's the father?"
"Why, you are, silly! You're my husband."
"I mean, by whom did you conceive?"
" 'By whom did you conceive?' Christ, Stephen, you sound like a bad professor. A bad movie director's idea of a bad professor."
"Can't you just be straight with me for once? Who was he?"
"You and I have sex. Probably you."
"We have intercourse very rarely, Taylor. And besides, you always make me wear a condom when we do."
"Condoms can leak."
I gave up. I knew I wasn't going to get an answer.
Finally, Taylor said, "Don't sulk, Stephen. I hate that. It's childish. You're going to be a father. That's all that matters. You'll be a great father.............. and you know I love you."
Hearing those words softened my heart and hardened my prick. I lifted the sheet and started planting kisses on Taylor's tummy. She said, "That's my boy," as her fingers touseled my hair.
After kissing almost every inch of her bump, I moved down between her legs. Her scent was a rich, enticing musk, and she had that "early morning" pungent taste I was so familiar with. Taylor's pregnancy had already made her labia thick and dark, and they looked prominent and proud through her trim but silky bush. I felt like I was worshiping a goddess-queen from some ancient, matriarchal culture. I started rubbing my throbbing prick against her leg and felt my pre-come start to drip. Taylor stopped me, saying she didn't have time to clean up a mess. With that she pulled my head up. The spell was broken. She roused herself and got out of bed to start her day.
Later on as she was dressing, I asked,"I almost forgot. Are we having a boy or a girl?"
Amused, she said, "Stephen, you're nothing but a question machine today. I'm going to let it be a surprise."
A few weeks later, Taylor said she wanted to convert a room where I stored my old stuff from my bachelor days into a nursery. I told her I had some ideas and could help, but she said, "No. I want to do this myself. I'll hire the workmen. Don't interfere, and don't get sentimental about the junk in there. I want you to promise not to go up there until I show it to you. It'll be a surprise."
I promised. Over the weeks the workmen came and did their jobs. I had no idea what the nursery would finally look like, but Taylor has good taste, and I knew it'd be nice. It did bother me though, to see the workmen come down stairs to toss all my old college and childhood memorabilia into the trash bin. But, I reasoned, I was entering a new stage of life, and it was time to let go of the past.
One weekend morning in Taylor's ninth month I overheard her on the phone, saying to someone, "Mmmmmm, can't wait to see you babe. I'll be there about noon."
I was worried that she was too far along in her pregnancy and told her that maybe she better stay home.
"I'll be fine, Stephen."
"Look, I know you're going to meet somebody. Do you think that's a good idea when you're so close to your due date?"
"I've read a lot of articles saying that sex can induce labor. I've got to give birth soon. Being this big is driving me crazy."
I told her it was a myth that sex induced labor. "And besides," I said, "you could have sex with me right here and now, you know."
Taylor, brushing her hair in the mirror, only rolled her eyes and shook her head.
So I let her go. I spent half the time trying to keep my mind off where she was, and the other half masturbating about what she might be doing.
She came back a little after 4 pm, her clothes and hair disheveled. She had a blissed-out, well-fucked, satisfied look on her face, but she also seemed a little unsteady as she went to our bedroom and took off all her clothes. She told me to shut the blinds. She said she was achy all over and wanted to lie down awhile. There was still enough sun coming through the edges of the blinds to cast some light across the bed. There was Taylor, totally nude, lying flat on her back with her legs lightly spread. Her bush was wet and matted, her labia dark red and puffy. I could just make out that she'd already dripped a wet spot on the sheet. I couldn't help myself. I climbed between her legs and began gently kissing and trying to soothe her sore, battered, leaking pussy. Often when I tried this after she'd been on a date, she'd push me away, but not this time. She whimpered, and reached down to carress my head as I tried to comfort and clean her. Suddenly her pussy spasmed and pushed a load of somebody's come straight into my mouth. In about thirty seconds it happened again. Then a torrent of watery fluid came out and flooded my face. Her water broke.
"That's it, we've got to get to the hospital now. I can tell it's time," she said.
I got her dressed and in the car as fast as I could. On the way to the hospital she giggled and said, "Your face and hair are a mess." I got my handkerchief and did my best to clean myself with one hand while driving with the other.
I carried her in the hospital just in time. She started going into labor almost immediately. Before I knew it I was wearing scrubs and a mask and was standing by Taylor as she lay back with her legs spread. Before she even had a chance to get comfortable, I could see the baby's head start to crown. His or her hair was dark, and had a different texture than Taylor's straight hair. I didn't have time to ponder that long, because with a little help by the doctor, the baby came out in a quick "whoosh."
Well, at least now I knew one thing about the man by whom she conceived: He was black. The baby was a boy with medium brown skin, but decidedly African facial features.
I noticed that all talking in the delivery room stopped. Everybody had seen what I saw. I could even tell that one of the nurses was blushing beneath her mask. But they all continued their jobs in a professional manner.
Taylor wasn't the least bit embarrassed. She looked tired, but there was a definite glint in her eyes as she gazed at me and said, "Surprise."
The next few minutes were a blur. Then all of a sudden I heard the doctor say, "All right, here's the second crown."
I thought, "What? Second crown?"
I looked at Taylor. She grinned, and silently mouthed the word, "Twins."
Then even faster than the first, a baby girl was born, with features more like Taylor's, but with darker skin than the boy's.
"Surprise number two," Taylor said.
The doctors let me cut the umbilical cords. I was still stunned and didn't know how much time was passing. I rember the doctors pronouncing them healthy, and then I remember Taylor breastfeeding them both, and I cannot deny, she and the babies looked incredibly beautiful. At some point, Taylor had someone take a picture of me holding them. Taylor never used my name that whole day. She kept calling me "Daddy" and every once in a while she'd say, "You're really going to have your hands full now, Daddy." Of course I put on a happy face, and in a sense I was happy. Part of me was proud of Taylor for not being at all embarrased, part of me was angry, and I don't know what else I was feeling.
As I was watching Taylor breastfeed, a nurse came in with the birth certificates. I hesitated only a little. Taylor frowned at me and said, "Sign them. You're their father." So I signed the certificates, thereby committing myself to supporting my wife's biracial twins from now until they were at least eighteen. Knowing myself though, I was sure I'd put them both through college too. Right or wrong, I still felt happy and excited. Nervous, angry, and scared of what people would think, to be sure, but happy and excited too.
Later when the nurses were gone and I was alone with Taylor, I figured she might just be woozy enough to tell me by whom she conceived if I asked nicely and reassured her that I was glad to be the babies' father, no matter what.
She said, "Ok, you remember that time last September when I flew to Atlanta to do those magazine ads? I was in the office of a black corporate exec and he came on to me. He was married, but he was such a handsome, sexy hunk, I couldn't say no. His whole body looked like chiseled marble. I was going commando that day, so he just lifted my skirt, bent me over his desk and spread my legs, and then his cock, oh my god, his cock almost split me apart. We did it right there in his office, twice. Both times when he came he just kept shooting his sperm in me, stream after stream after long thick stream. So much of it ran back out of me. And as soon as I left his office I bought a disposable douche and hurried to my motel room and used it. I really did. I was afraid it wouldn't make any difference,and obviously it didn't. I was taking a break from the pill, and I knew I was due to ovulate around this time. And then later when I found out I released not one but two eggs, and his sperm had forced their way inside them both, even after I'd tried to wash his semen away, well, Stephen, I couldn't even think about aborting them. It's like it was absolutely meant to be. You can understand that, can't you, honey?"
"Yes, Taylor, I understand. Thanks for telling me."
I asked her if she'd thought of names for the babies.
She said, "I have to admit, you've been really sweet to me through all this. As my gift to you in return, I'm going to name them for you. Honey, meet your son, Stephen Jr. and your daughter, Stephanie."
I took them from her arms and kissed my son and daughter, my namesakes.
When we all got home, Taylor finally took me up to the remodeled room and had me close my eyes. She pushed me in and said, "Ok, open 'em."
I opened my eyes and there was the beautiful nursery, completely outfitted for two babies. There were the prerequisite ducks and bunnies on the walls and among other things, a rocking chair, a chest of drawers, a changing table, and two beautiful mahogany cribs with mobiles above them. Between the two the cribs was a sturdy cot.
Taylor saw me staring at the cot and said, "That's for you, honey. You see, I have to get myself back in shape and get a lot of rest so I'll look good for my photoshoots. For a few months at least, you're going to sleep in here and care for the babies. You'll feed them, comfort them, and change their diapers while I literally get my beauty sleep."
What could I say but, "Yes, darling."
 TAKE MY WIFE |
 FUCK ME |
Poster:
Stephen S.