Cheryl had been bugging me about having a kid. She said it would help cement our love, make us a stronger couple, all that stuff women say when they want their bellies filled with eight pounds of shit machine. I wish I didn’t sound so bitter, because I’m not. I’m forty years old and some how I’ve managed not to get a single woman I’ve ever been with pregnant.
But here I am with a twenty-five-year old wife
A blonde, tight bodied, smoking hot twenty-five-year old white girl
She’s pornstar caliber all the way and goddamn she’s hot in the sack. So hot that I needed to get myself on Dr. Porkenhiemer’s big blue pill in order to keep up with her urges.
We’ve been together three years.
It ain’t all been blissful. Her folks weren’t exactly down with our age difference or with my skin color. My family pretty much felt the same way. Both my mother and oldest sister nearly fainted when I brought her home. Both of them always hoped I’d end up with a nice church bred black girl; both of them hoped I’d end up with a woman just like them; hard headed, strong willed and waiting for some man to come along, boss ‘em around and occasionally knock out one of their front teeth or bust their nose for throwing out a little too much sass.
My Cheryl, she’s strong willed, she’s ambitious, and she ain’t a damn thing like my mother or sister.
But we dealt with the disapproval of our families and we built a good life together.
Solid careers, a beautiful home, a small, tight knit group of friends.
It’s a perfect life as far as I’m concerned.
But then she started in with the baby talk. I hemmed and hawed, smiled politely when ever she brought it up, but never giving her any kind of real answer to how I felt.
Until she finally cornered me one night after we’d drank a couple of bottles of good wine with dinner.
The way her eyes sparkled when she talked about having a baby, of having a person who was made of a small piece of her and me growing inside her, it melted my heart, it made me want to have a baby with her.
Kind of.
I didn’t know what kind of father I’d be. My father was mulch by the time I was two years old and the only father figures I knew were the series of bonebreakers my mother hooked up with when I was growing up weren’t the type of assholes you wanted to use as templates.
I said fuck it, especially since the idea of getting knocked up was driving Cheryl wild and her normally advantageous sexuality was kick started into over drive and she was turning me inside out two or three times a day. I couldn’t keep up and started pushing her away when she’d try climbing on top of me. Then she started trying different things to keep me interested and as revved up as she was.
Crazy, kinky shit.
My girl’s biggest thing is role play.
When Cheryl was in high school, she was huge into the drama club, so was her first boyfriend. Her first sexual experiences we’re hot, sweaty throw downs dressed up like Romeo and Juliet, or whatever costumes they happened to be performing in that semester. We’d played her games only a few times before our spate of baby making—bad cop, French maid, dirty nurse—and it was some of our most explosive sex. But when Cheryl decided on wanting a baby, she stepped up her routines and along with playing dress up, she wanted to act out her little passion plays on location.
The French maid routine now had to be in an upscale hotel room.
Bad cop had to be at the side of a three am strip of two lane highway.
Dirty nurse had to be in a hospital emergency room.
The bigger the risk, the hotter she got and I had to admit, it got me sweating just as hard.
But I thought her dressing up like a nun and us heading down to the local Catholic Church was a bit much.
Even though neither Cheryl or I were very religious, I was raised Southern Baptist, the church was my family’s entire world and it was instilled in me that every church—no mater what faith it may be—was sacred.
Cheryl kept pushing.
She kept parading her ass around in the sack cloth black and white habit with nothing underneath except black six inch stripper heels, fishnets, and no panties.
Like all of her other demands, I finally relented and drove her down to the church a couple of miles away from our town house on a Thursday night.
The chapel was completely abandoned, so we started in on her nun/teacher/ naughty parochial school boy fantasy. We were just getting into it, Cheryl bent over a pew, my face buried in her ass, lapping away, and I felt her tense up.
“Oh my. . .oh my God….”
I stared up and saw some nondescript white dude backing down the aisle, not able to take his eyes off the two of us.
“Stop him, Ty!” Cheryl practically shrieked. “You’ve got to stop him!”
I stood up, letting the man see my full six-foot-three frame, my face slick with spit and Cheryl’s juices and I charged. His eyes were huge and glazed over, still in shock over what he was seeing.
I hit him hard, tackling him around the midsection.
I clambered on top of him, wrapping my big hands tight across his throat. He tried fighting back; weak punches glancing off my shoulders. I heard Cheryl somewhere far away, her voice high and shrill.
I didn’t know why I was squeezing the life out of this complete stranger? Maybe it was because all the blood that normally would’ve been powering my brain had all drained away from it to power up my dick and I was in survival mode, like some kind of animal.
I finally came out of my blood stupor, the dead man under me, Cheryl standing over me, her face glowing, slack jawed. She pushed me off of him and collapsed on top of me, maniacally grinding, cumming over and over again, never taking her eyes off the corpse.
That was two months ago
Six bodies ago
Still no baby
We’re out again tonight; she wants me to do a cop, so we’re in a stolen car, speeding around corners, side swiping parked vehicles, trying to attract attention.
I want to tell her everyday that we need to stop; that we’ve gone too far.
But I can’t.
I just can’t say no to her.
