Angie's Valentines Baby

"A third man? I'm going to sleep with two men besides my husband? What kind of woman are you making me? How old will this old man be? And who's my lover?"

"You're going to sleep with at least two others beside your husband," I say as I get up from the sofa. "Try this one next," I say as I hold up a skimpy black lace number I've picked up from another table. "The first one, the stranger, he'll be about my age."

"Your age? That would be way too old for me." She's firm in her rejection of this fictional forty year old seducer I've conjured up. She takes the hanger from my fingers.

"No, this time I want to see this one modelled the right way ... not over your sweater."

"I can't ... you'll see..."

"Please, it's for the story ... for the readers," I implore softly.

"It's wrong-"

I gently guide her towards one of the small changing rooms that opens off our mirrored display room. "It's no different than if you were trying on a bathing suit for a customer. The story Angie, remember the story," I urge.

She turns back to face me and asks, "So how old will the lover be?"

"He's young. Younger even than you," I answer, guessing at her secret. Then I shut the door of the room.

"Eighteen?" she asks through the door.

"Exactly eighteen," I agree. "Yes, he'll be a horny, big cocked eighteen year old who wants to fuck the old married woman."

I hear a giggle through the door. "I'm not old," she calls. But it takes her minutes before she shyly emerges from the cubicle. Her breasts are spilling out of the black lace that's struggling to contain them.

"You're beautiful, no wonder the man in my story wants you," I intone reverentially as I lift the camera.

"Don't, no pictures," she orders but makes no real effort to cover herself as I circle her like a vulture, snapping pictures continuously. The matching black lace 'cheekies' highlight the smooth firmness of her bum.

"Describe your outfit for me ... so I'll know what to write."

"Will the story Angie be wearing these when she's with the old man?" She asks.

"No, these are for the young lover. The boy who makes love with you in your husband's bed."

"My own bed? Where will Paul be?"

"Who? The cuckold?"

"He's not!"

"It's just a story. Now describe this outfit."

"It's a push-up bra. In lace. Black lace. They call it floral lace because of the pattern," she explains as she fingers the bra. "It's got a plunge front-"

"I'll say!"

"Shhh, don't interrupt," she orders and then puts her hands under her breasts and gently lifts them, almost as if she's making an offering. "A plunge front with a kissing center."

Fuck, does it ever, I think to myself as I eye the deep valley between her breasts.

"It has more cleavage this way. Underwire cups. And of course with adjustable straps. It closes on the back." Angie, in her enthusiasm to display her knowledge, has almost forgotten that she's practically naked in front of a man other than her husband.

"Let me see," I say, then put a hand on her shoulder and then turn her so she's facing away from me. She watches me in the mirror.

"What are you doing?" she asks as she feels my fingers on the fragile clasp that holds the bra in place.

"I'm going to have to explain to my readers how the shy teenager struggles to get your bra undone. I just want to check how it works," I say as I easily undo the bra. Angie's hands race to hold the black lace up on her breasts. I see a nipple. Pink. Erect.

She dances away from me, all the while struggling to keep her teenaged breasts covered. She doesn't completely succeed. I snap more pictures.

"We better stop now. I'm going to change back," she announces firmly from the doorway to the cubicle. But she lingers there, waiting. She's enjoying our flirting as much as I.

"I want you to try one more."

"But-"

"Just one. This is the one the girl in the story will be wearing when the older lover takes her."

"He takes her?"

"Yes," I answer as I pick up an ensemble from the third table. She scampers over, her curiosity drawing her.

"The white one? With the garter belt? And stockings too?"

"Yes," I answer as I hand her the lingerie.

I can see immediately that she likes the choice. "It's expensive. It's a limited edition. From France," she explains as she takes it from my hand. "It's a ruffled Chantilly lace v-string. And the garter belt is in a matching mesh lace ... I love it in white. It's my favourite."

"And the bra?" I ask.

"It's a push-up, corset demi bra," my expert tells me.

"Try it on."

"It's very-"

"Revealing?" I supply.

"Yes."

"PUT IT ON!" It's an order.

"But-"

"That's what the man in the story says."

"He orders her too? Like you just did? He yells at her? Is he in the boutique in the story?"

"Yes, in a room just like this one. As soon as he came into the store our fictional Angie knew he was rich. She knew that she could sell him hundreds and hundreds of dollars of lingerie if she played her cards right. Maybe thousands! That she could earn a big commission check. In the story he comes in just before closing."

"Like you did tonight," Angie supplies. I nod.

"He's a European. He wants her to model the lingerie for him. She knows she shouldn't but then she thinks of the money. She tells herself that nothing will happen. That he's civilised."

"She's greedy isn't she? That's not like me," my Angie says even as she takes the clothes from my hands. "She should have known you can't trust Europeans. What is he? French?"

"Italian," I supply.

"They're the worst."

"But she thinks she's safe. He's dressed like a gentleman. She knows clothes. His suit is Italian, she knows it must have cost at least three thousand dollars."

"So she goes and changes into this? For an Italian?" Angie asks.

"Yes she turns to go into the cubicle. But he stops her."

"He does? Why?"

"He says, 'No Angelique, I want you to change here, right here in front of me'. She thinks he's kidding at first but he isn't."

"What does she do?"

"Why don't you tell me what you think the Angie in the story will do."

"I'll bet she'll probably do it. She'll have to if it's going to be an erotic story. A Scouries story. She will, won't she?" she asks.

"Yes."

"She shouldn't. She's making a mistake," my Angie warns her fictional namesake.

"If it was you how would you do go about it? Would you strip right in front of him?"

She shakes her head no. "I'd probably sit on the sofa. Like this," she says as she sits down on the soft velvet surface of the oriental style settee. She's now completely into the part. And as she does she lets the black lace bra that she'd been holding to her breasts fall. I pick up my camera.

"What is she thinking as he watches her?" I ask.

"She's a little bit afraid. Nervous. But excited too," my young beauty says as she slides the black panties down her legs. "She's never done anything like this before for a customer."

"So why does she do it now?" I ask as I point the camera lens at her now exposed sex.

"She can't stop herself."

"But her husband," I protest.

And as Angie bares herself to me, as her triangle of trimmed pubic down comes into view, I smell her sex, her need. The lips of her vagina are already engorged with blood, a drop of moisture glistens at her gate.

"It's like she's fallen under his spell," the cute wife admits as she looks shyly up at me.

"Does the man have an erection?"

"Yes he does, and she can't help but notice it ... but it seems almost too big. His pants are tenting out, way out." As Angie talks she's attaching the garter belt around her waist but her eyes have darted across to the bulge that's protruding from my pants.

"Is it bigger than her husband's?"

Quickly Angie pulls the sheer white stockings up her legs and attaches them to the belt. She reaches for the bra.

"She thinks so," my married angel responds as she fits the bra over her beautiful breasts.

"Does she wonder what it'll feel like inside herself? If his big cock will feel different than her husband's does? Better?"

"I love my husband's cock," Angie says as she bends to pull the wispy white panties up over her feet.

"No, I want you to leave those off!" I order.

"Is that what the lover in the story says?"

"Yes, now stand up. HURRY!" I pull the young teen to her feet, then lead her over to the large wall mirror. I stand behind her and watch her reflection in the glass. "What is my story Angie thinking now?" I ask. My hands have closed around her arms, trapping her between them.

"She's scared ... and excited. She can see his eyes... his hungry eyes. They're devouring her. She knows he wants her, that she's made a mistake."

"He can smell her," I whisper in my Angie's ear. "Her sex! He knows she's wet, that she wants him. She can feel his hardness against her bum." And as I murmur the words I pull her back against me, moving her so my erection traces the crack between her cheeks.

"He unclasps her bra." As I do. I can feel Angie trembling against me but she does nothing to cover the suddenly exposed pink aureoles or the hard nipples that rise from them.

"What's he do then?" She asks. Her voice quavers. She's trembling in my arms.

"He lifts her in his arms, like this," I say as I lift my young beauty and carry her over to the nearest display table.

"He's going to take advantage of her isn't he?' she asks as I set her down on her back, her legs hanging over the edge. "Fuck her," she adds. Her eyes are sparkling in excitement.

"She wants to see his cock," I say as I move between her knees and start to unbutton my shirt.

"She's a bad wife," Angie responds as she raises her head. She licks her lips when my fingers start to undo my belt.

"It's not her fault," I say as I push my pants and boxers down over my hips. Angie gasps.

"His Italian cock's so big," she finally manages to say.

"Yes it is," I answer as I move even closer to her. My straining penis bumps against her inner thigh.

My Angie starts to open her mouth to protest but I bend over and capture her lips in mine, silencing her words. Her protest swallowed, her mouth opens in welcome and our tongues meet. My cock, throbbing and erect, lies waiting between our stomachs, resting on her pubic fur. My left hand softly caresses her cheek as our tongues continue to duel.

"What is my story Angie thinking now?" I ask when our mouths finally separate. My hands slip down onto her breasts.

"She doesn't want to. It's not right. But he touches her breasts ... she's excited." I move my head downward and capture a nipple. Angie's whole body arches upward as my teeth close lightly on the pink bud.

"Does she like what he's doing?" I ask as I slide my mouth downward. It's following my fingers which have already reached her opening.

"Yes. Tooooo much," she groans as my tongue finds her clit. "Whaaaaaat are you doing?"

I look up. "I'm going to eat you, eat your beautiful pussy, your juicy cunt," I whisper then drop my mouth back to her sex.

"But-" she starts but I'm not listening. I'm lost in her taste and her smell. I start to lick her! Within seconds she starts to wriggle under my tongue. My hands, now under her bum, tighten their grip and hold her struggling body against my face. Then Angie starts to scream out her need.

It doesn't take long for the tremors to start, small at first but then quickly followed by the jerking waves of her orgasm. Her juices spew out onto my probing tongue. I taste her infidelity. Then I lick my way back up her body.

My little girl is panting, her body still heaving from her orgasm.

"Then he fucks her, doesn't he? After she's orgasmed. She doesn't want him to but she's helpless. She can't fight him, he's too strong. He's going to put his big cock in her isn't he?" It's more a request than question.

"No, he'd never force her," I answer, my lips now just inches from hers. "She has to ask him." I slip my hand slowly down across her stomach and then lightly brush a fingertip through her bush and down into her wet opening.

"Ask what," my little love whispers.

"You know," I answer as first one, then a second finger, pushes inside her.

"To fuck her? She has to ask him?" I say nothing, instead lower my lips back to a nipple while continuing to finger fuck her.

"He won't do it if she doesn't ask?" There's desperation in her voice now.

"Do you think my story Angie will ask him?" I ask as I pull my fingers from her molten, sticky cave and stand ready between her legs. My cock is bobbing eagerly in the air.

"She shouldn't," Angie replies even as her hand reaches out and captures my penis. "What if she got pregnant? With another man's baby? What would her husband say?" And as she asks the questions she rubs my aching cockhead up and down her moist slit. A groan escapes her each time my cock nudges her clit.

"He could take it out before he comes."

"But will he?"

"Or maybe this European stranger will put his baby inside of her."

"But what about-"

"My fictional Angie's husband can't make her pregnant. He has a low sperm count. He has watery cum. He'll never be able to impregnate her."

"You don't know that! It's not true, don't write that. We haven't tested it yet, Paul has good cum," she protests, confirming my suspicion that the young couple is having trouble conceiving.

"Well, will she say the words? Will she? What'll she say, it's up to you to decide," I urge.

"She will. She's bad, she'll say fuck me," Angie answers as she spreads her legs even farther apart and lifts her hips to meet the penis she's placed at her gate.

"She wants him doesn't she?" I hold back even as Angie's small hand tries to pull me forward.

"Pleeeeeeease Jim," she begs, all pretence now gone. "Fuck me, FUCK MEEEEEEEEEE! Fuck me with your big cock!" she screams. I smash home. Bury myself in her tight young pussy. Another man's pussy. One that's now mine.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhh."

It's a primal scream that's risen from her throat. It's a scream of anguish and a scream of welcome. I pull completely out.

"Put it back! Pleeeeeeeeease," she begs. I push back inside. Then start to piston my hips, forcing my ram continually deeper.

"Haaaarder .... faaaaasterer... more ... more Jim," she yells as I fuck her. She's gone, lost now in the euphoric feelings the nerve endings in her cunt are flooding her brain with. She starts to wail.

I can't think. My cock has taken over. But my cock can't hold back, it cums almost immediately. Fuck, I've had a hard-on for her since I met her six hours ago. But it doesn't matter, she's ready and her body is bucking up off the table in orgasm when the first thick strand of my cum splatters deep inside her.

Thick, creamy baby making sperm. Sperm that's delivered deep inside her by the repeated spasms of my angry cock. Milky ejaculate. Rushing to fill her. And when I've finished, when the last jacking of my cock is done, I collapse atop her, my face buried in her comforting bosom. Later, as the panting of our breath finally starts to subside I reach up and kiss her.

"You were supposed to take it out. Before you came." But there's no real complaint in her words.

"I'm going to put my baby in you, a Scouries baby," I answer. My penis, still hard, is still inside her, plugging her so that my sperm can't ooze out from between her legs.

She shakes her head no but still asks, "What happens then? In the story I mean. Does he just disappear? Does she get pregnant? Does her husband find out?" I pull my sticky spear from her center.

"He takes her home to bed," I answer.

"Whose bed?"

"Whose do you think?" I ask as I lift her from the table and swing her around in my arms.

"Mine?" Yes of course hers! I want to see where she lives... I want to fuck her in her husband's bed.

4 Angie's House 11:00 p.m.

It's an attached two story brownstone in a recently yuppified area near the city center. An area that's home to the burgeoning population of young professionals who are increasingly running the city and America.

"Where's the bedroom?" I ask the second we've closed the front door. At tour can wait, we're both thinking of only one thing. She points upstairs.

The first time is as urgent as the sex we had in the boutique. Hard, deep fucking. Me on top. Her legs are up in the air and resting on my shoulders as I pump into her. Long, slow strokes, then short, hard, fast thrusts as our orgasms near. It's loud fucking. Dirty fucking. Wet fucking.

Our next time she's lying on top of me, kissing me as she sinuously moves her hips over my impaled spear. We make love. Slowly. I fill her with more of my male seed.

Much later. "Are you going to go now?" It's two thirty in the morning. I've ejaculated inside my little angel four times, five if you count the shop. We're both spent. Sweaty. Sticky. Happy.

"No."

"In the story doesn't the Italian lover leave?"

"No," I answer as I curl my arms around her, "now go to sleep." We both eventually do.

We wash each other in the shower when we finally get up the next morning. It's late, almost eleven and Angie has to be at work for noon. And she protests when I crowd into the shower with her five minutes later. But we fuck standing up as the water cascades over us. We don't talk as we dress.

We're shy with each other as we cab towards her shop and work. "Will I ever see you again?" she finally asks as we pull up in front of her store.

"I'll pick you up at eight," I promise as she hops out of the cab. Its five minutes past noon and she's late for work.

"You will?"

"We haven't finished the story have we?" I ask the now radiantly smiling young wife.

"No we haven't," she agrees.

"Did you think your Italian lover in the story was going to leave you after just one night?"

"I didn't really think about-"

"He'll be in town for two more nights."

"He will?" Angie doesn't even try to hide her happiness.

"And then of course the author has to decide what happens with the young lover. With Johnnie."

"JOHNNIE! That's my lover's name?" she asks through the cab window.

"Drive on driver," I instruct my cabby.

A block later he asks, "Are you the Italian or the author or Johnnie?" There's a smirk on his face.

Wednesday, February 11th 2009, Chicago, Illinois

5 Angie's House -- The Next Night

"We could go out for dinner, somewhere fancy," I offer when I pick her up at the shop at eight.

"I don't know. What if someone recognises me?"

"Or we could pick up something, get some Chinese to go," I suggest. She quickly agrees. We stop and load up with boxes full of food. While I'm waiting Angie even ducks next door to a French bakery and buys us a chocolate cake for dessert.

We're back at her house by eight thirty.

"Come here," I say as I pull her toward me. We've just entered her kitchen.

"Don't! I'll drop the cake," she protests with a happy giggle as I try to wrap my arms around her. I take it from her hands and put it on the counter top and then draw her back against me. Then kiss her even as my hands slip under her skirt.

"The food will get cold." Another weak protest. I push her panties down her thighs. "JIIIIIM!" She's excited.

"Right here on the kitchen table," I promise as I turn her and bend her face first onto the glass surface.

"NO, Not here, not on the table." But her voice is excited and happy. And she's wet and ready when seconds later I push my freed cock up deep between her legs.

After we're finished I sit her on my lap and we take turns feeding each other, take turns pushing finger laden morsels of food between the others lips. We're both naked. I'm still semi erect and can feel my sperm oozing out from her and down onto my thighs.

I slide a sweet roll between her thighs.

"Perv," she accuses as I bring the cum drenched tidbit to her mouth.