Bert Ch. 02

After we finished, Bert suggested we go to the bar where we could dance. I agreed, and we left Frank at the booth to pick up the check.

By the time Frank joined us in the bar, Bert was snuggled in beside me. He had his hand resting on my thigh, and was telling me how lovely he thought I was. I'm sure Frank saw it, but he seemed to pretend he didn't. At this point, I was losing any respect I had for Frank as a husband. If he wasn't going to defend what was his...well, that would be his problem.

"Come on, let's dance," Bert said confidently, and took my hand as he pulled me from the booth.

"Honey, watch my purse," I said to my shell-shocked husband, who numbly nodded.

On the dance floor it was clear that Bert could hardly dance at all. I laughed watching him shake around, doing his best to imitate dancing. But at least he had the gumption to get out on the floor. Frank would never dance with me, even at our wedding.

As I looked at Bert, I almost felt as if I'd been drugged. He was somehow looking more and more attractive to me. He smiled at me in a goofy Clouseau kind of way...and I felt myself smiling back, adoringly. I loved that he so wanted to please and entertain me.

Then the slow songs started. I went to go back to the table, but Bert pulled me to him and we began dancing in an embrace.

As we danced, he began to become aroused. My God! I had never felt such an enormous organ before. Bert began grinding it into my belly and my knees felt weak. He was making me feel incredibly horny. It may seem crazy that such a homely, old man could make me feel like this, but—I guess—strange things happen!

"Think you could handle that?" he whispered, lewdly.

"I...I...I'm not sure," I whispered back. My voice was fluttering now. I was very excited and horny. I now found myself wondering if this was all starting to spiral out of control. Would I act on my fantasy and betray my wedding vows?

"Well, maybe we'll find out tonight, eh?" he pried away at my weakening will. Simultaneously, he ground the ungodly thick cudgel deeper into my belly.

"Eh?" Bert pressed again when I failed to respond.

"Maybe," I submitted.

When the song ended, we went back to the booth. I felt light-headed and weak-kneed. I was flushed with excitement. I'm sure Frank noticed, but, again, said and did nothing.

As Bert entered the booth behind me, his enormous masculinity jutted out from his crotch in such obvious fashion that I noticed even Frank staring at it.

My husband had to know that this old man had been grinding with his wife through the previous dances. But Frank just seemed shell-shocked at this point. I began to realize that Frank was out of his league. Bert, for all the apparent foolishness of his initial appearance, was dominating the evening...and my husband.

A live band began playing and the lights went down.

Frank watched the band, as Bert snuggled closer to me and began stroking my thigh again. But this time his hand more boldly ran up under the hem of my dress. He began to run his hand higher and higher with each strike. I continued to look straight ahead, my heart pounding, finding it hard to believe he was about to do what I knew he was going to do...and with my husband just across the table.

Bert's fingers ultimately ran into the hinge of my thigh, and began to stroke the already quite moist, swollen lips of my aching pussy through my hose.

Bert was well acquainted with a woman's most intimate anatomy. He very deftly began to play with my clitoris in a way no man ever had. I could feel that I was losing any will to say no to this man.

At one point, as I stared ahead, I felt Bert gently pull my thigh wider, to provide easier access to whatever he wished. My thigh seemingly fell open under his gentle indication. I was now sitting along side this strange little man, thighs spread widely apart, his hand between them administering and tweaking at my swollen and aching clitty. Another few moments and I knew I would cum.

"Why don't we go up to my room?" Bert asked us, loudly. But it wasn't really a request. He knew he was in charge now. He immediately pulled me from the booth and we walked hand in hand to the elevators.

Frank picked up the tab, and then followed behind...

Thirty minutes later we found ourselves in the darkness of Bert's room. He had made Frank and I some drinks, the TV was playing a porn film of some kind. A young white girl was taking on several older, black men. She seemed to be genuinely enjoying it.

Like so many things Bert had done that evening, I felt the film was completely inappropriate, but I couldn't seem to muster any objection. I found myself absorbed, watching the young girl struggle to satisfy the large African Amercian men that were impaling her.

As I watched, Bert grabbed my hand and placed it on his cock. It felt like a pulsating, fire hose...it was that big! I knew if I didn't resist, it was now or never. I looked over pleadingly to Frank. But he just stared back at me. He saw where Bert was pulling my hand. He seemed transfixed. Then I noticed, Frank's pants were bulging at the crotch.

It was clear to me that no aid or assistance would be forthcoming from my husband.

Now I just gave in and let Bert have his way. If my husband didn't care, why should I?

I began to tug on the massive dick that Bert possessed. It seemed so hard and so alive under my ministrations. It actually seemed to grow even bigger.

"Take it out!" I heard Bert insist.

I was very, very hot at this point. Maybe I was drugged. It doesn't matter now...I unzipped him and struggled to pull this sweaty, oversized dick out of his pants. Once I could finally get it to the fly opening, it suddenly popped out of his pants.

It was the most amazing dick I'd ever set eyes on! It had to be 9 or 10 inches. It felt incredible in my hand, as I began stroking and shucking it. It throbbed over and over as I stroked it. Little Bert could have made three of my husband—where it counted!

I couldn't help but stare at the weapon I now held in my hand. It was so hard. I could feel the power of this man as I worked on his amazing phallus.

Soon my arm grew tired and Bert pulled me to him. I began working his gorgeous dick with my right hand now.

"Ever have one that big?" he asked.

I shook my head, 'no.'

"Well, after tonight you won't ever have to say 'no' to that question again, baby," he snickered.

Bert grasped the back of my neck and began to force my head down on his dick. I gave him no resistance. What would the point have been. I wanted him in my mouth by that point. And I knew both men in the room wanted me to suck him off at that point.

In my peripheral vision, I could see Frank's dick was out of his pants; he was jacking off to his wife being manhandled by a stranger—a "pathetic loser," as he had put it earlier that day.

Now Frank was the pathetic loser. Bert was taking his wife right in front of him, punking him without regard, without permission.

I began to suck the huge dick like I had never sucked a man before. I worked the dick into my throat as deeply as I could handle, occassionally gagging and coughing on the oversized slab of manhood.

Bert was grabbing my hair roughly now, calling me names. My fantasy from earlier that day was coming true:

"Suck it you fucking whore! Show me how a slut sucks cock!"

I should have hated him for what he was saying. But I didn't. I found myself responding in the trashiest way imaginable. No man had ever spoken to me like that...and I had always wanted one to. For just once, to be treated like a whore...to be called a whore. It was intoxicating in a way that went very deep. An older man using me, and referring to me as his whore.

Bert several times tugged at my mane to indicate he wanted me to stop. I didn't want to. I loved the taste and musky smell of him, wafting from his crotch. Finally, he pulled me off of him and began to pull me by the hair to the bedroom.

I couldn't keep up with him and fell to all fours, but Bert continued pulling me and I shimmied on all fours to follow—like a dog in heat.

In the bedroom, he threw me on the bed and began ripping my clothes off. He had no regard for me, my clothes, nor my husband watching from the doorway.

After having me naked before him, Bert slowly began to disrobe. As he did, he spoke condescendingly to the boy that was once my husband:

"You know, Frank. What you have here is a real whore. And I'm about to show you how you handle a whore. You have to fuck 'em good, hard, and regular. And if you can't, you better find someone like me who'll do the job for you, ha ha."

Bert was soon undressed. His dick was now semi-hard, jutting out and bobbing before him like a salami. I didn't think I'd be able to take a man that big. I was to discover that I would soon only be satisfied by a man of Bert's proportions.

He came to the bed where I lay in a fetal position, he rolled me over and climbed onto the bed. Even with my trepidation at the monstrous size of his manhood, I found my thighs spreading naturally to accommodate him.

He smiled down at me, as he manuevered the head of his organ up and down the swollen lips of my labia.

"Damn she's wet, Frank," he taunted my husband. "She always get so damned wet? Oh sorry, guess you wouldn't know, huh?"

Frank took the taunting now like a beaten boy. He stood at the doorway jerking away at his throbbing penis. I remember thinking in the back of my mind that it was the hardest and longest erection I'd ever seen Frank maintain.

Bert was pressing the fat, bloated knob of his cock against the lips of my cunt. I thought they'd never be able to part wide enough to swallow him, but after some struggle they relented. I groaned aloud at the massive invasion of my womb.

Within minutes, Bert was holding my hands above my head, pinning them to the bed, and pumping—with ever increasing urgency—the full ten inches of his dick deep into my flooding, vaginal channel.

Each pounding thrust of his oversized organ produced an involuntary grunt from my depths.

I couldn't control it. He was hammering away and the loud slapping of our loins must have easily been heard out in the hallway.

"Tell me you love it," Bert grunted, as he repeatedly slammed his hips to mine, impaling me with his weapon over and over again.

"I love it...I love it...I love it..." I found myself chanting with each jackhammer of his dick into my depths.

"Jesus!" Bert shouted. And I could feel the spasming of his dick against the stretched lips of my pussy, which were straining to contain all he offered me.

Inside he was flooding me with his masculine essence. I knew he was impregnating me. And my entire being, body and soul, worked in unison to nurse his cock and help feed my hungry womb with his seed.

"Hope you're on the pill, babe," he smiled down at me sarcastically.

"I'm not," I whispered, looking deeply into his eyes for his reaction.

"Well, you won't need 'em now. A better investment might be a nice maternity outfit, eh?"

Then he leaned down and gave me an open-mouthed kiss. I returned it fully, offering him my tongue. Soon we were running our tongues over each the others, as if we wanted to devour each other.

When Bert began pulling out from me, I wrapped my legs around his hips:

"I want more..." I pleaded.

"Nope. Done," he asserted, casually.

When he got up from the bed, his gorgeous cock hung limp and wet from my juices. It still bounced from thigh to thigh as he walked over to the bar. I couldn't take my eyes off of him—off of 'It.'

I wanted more. Much more.

Over the next few days, I got just that. I let Frank go gamble, while Bert and I spent most the time in his room.

I found myself responding to Bert's form of rough sex play.

I once told him I wasn't in the mood and he resoundingly slapped me. It was a loud slap. It didn't hurt as much as sting. But I found it put me in the mood—but quick.

Afterward, we had great sex. Soon I found that Bert's occassional slap in the mouth was an aphrodisiac of sorts. A little hair pulling and slapping, next thing I knew—I was horny. Practically, begging 'my old man' to fuck me senseless.

After our anniversary vacation, life between Frank and I returned to normal.

Except for my pregnancy...

Before long it was obvious, Bert had me with child. Just as I had suspected that first night, Bert had impregnated me with his first shot, so to speak.

"Frank, I have a little announcement," I tried breaking it gently to my husband.

"What's that, hon?"

"Well, I'm pregnant."

A look came over Frank. That same shell-shock look he had when we were with Bert.

"Is it...is it...mine?"

"Well, I don't know," I lied. "Does it matter? It will be ours."

"Well, I guess...not," Frank replied, dazedly.

"Let's go to dinner and celebrate," I quickly moved the conversation forward.

"OK..." Frank responded, still deer-in-the-headlights looking.

We went to dinner and that night in bed Frank went down on me. He never seemed to do this much, but that night he couldn't seem to get enough.

Hey, it works for me! I loved it!

As I got bigger, we had Bert come out to visit. We soon found out that he wasn't some wealthy businessman as he'd originally told us, he was a retiree who actually worked as a cashier at a 7-11.

I didn't care. He could have been homeless for all I cared. It was how he could make me feel. He was more man than all the pretty boys I had had in my teens and college years.

When Bert would visit, Frank would understand we needed some private time. It became more apparent to Frank—and he accepted it—that Bert was the father of my soon-to-be baby.

Bert loved me big and swollen from him. He'd love me getting naked and admiring his handiwork, kissing my big belly, then having me lie on my side while he fed my hungry cunt his Kong-sized dick.

I kept 'my man' satisfied all through my pregnancy, right up to the last two weeks.

Now the baby has arrived. It looks like his dad. And that's fine with me. Frank struggles with it a little more—understandably.

I still see Bert. He visits with another retiree friend of his. He has suggested a threeway with Joe, his buddy (who's even older—maybe in his seventies).

So far, though, I have declined.

Bert recently told me to start thinking about it harder.

God, he's so persistent.