Beres Behesh (The Baby Maker)

Beres Behesh (The Baby Maker)

I wanted a baby.

Sometimes, life will bring people to you that you might have never met or listened to. Fortunately, when I had lowered my guard and opened my mind, I met an old man who changed my life. After the tears, sadness, sense of failure, and overwhelming disappointment, I had reached a point where I would do just about anything to conceive a child.

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My name is Francine (Fran), and this story recounts events that took place over several weeks, almost three years ago. My husband Frank Parsons and I had been married for nearly four years, the last two trying to get pregnant. Frank was quite a bit older than me, and though a wonderful man, husband, and provider, I was still childless and growing more and more depressed as I approached my thirtieth birthday, and that proverbial biological clock continued to tick louder and louder. As much as we loved each other, the pressure and disappointment of trying and not being able to get pregnant were taking a toll on our relationship, and our lives had gradually become an almost constant state of angry words and recriminations.

We did all the tests, went to the doctors and specialists, spent a fortune, but nothing happened. Everything pointed to us both being physically capable of having a child, and yet, after almost two years of trying, I still didn't have a baby.

I was slipping into a growing depression, and I think my best friend Peggy sensed what was happening. I had known Peggy forever; we had been close from the time we first met in kindergarten, through high school and college, and into our adult lives. Peggy was familiar with my desire for a child and knew the difficulties and problems Frank and I were having and their effect on our marriage.

One day, while at lunch, Peggy told me that she had gone to have her palm read. I had no idea what she was talking about, and she explained that she had passed this little house with a small sign out front that said 'Tarot Cards Read' for months, and one day, she and her sister decided to go in and see what it was all about. Even though the house was a little creepy, they went inside anyway and met an old fortune teller named Sister Kasimma.

"I don't know if I believe in that kind of stuff, Peggy said, but it definitely gives you something to think about."

"You know Fran, what the old woman said was kind of interesting; why don't you go to her and see what she says about your situation?"

I looked at her and rolled my eyes.

"No, I'm serious, don't roll your eyes! Who knows, Sister Kasimma might be able to tell you something that will make you feel better, you know, more hopeful."

With a sigh of resignation, I finally agreed to go and see her fortune teller. I don't think I had any expectations and was just doing this to appease Peggy.

*****

The fortune teller's house was small and packed to overflowing with all types of little figurines and statuettes, candles, strange dolls, and what I assumed were pictures of saints. While my friend Peggy waited in an outer room, I was led into a darkened room that smelled of incense and fragranced oil. I was told to take a seat at a small, heavy, wooden table.

After about ten minutes of sitting alone in the room, an old woman came in and sat down opposite me. She was dressed in what looked like a large, brightly colored caftan with a shawl or scarf that covered her head and partially concealed her face. She said nothing for several seconds and then held out her hand and simply said, "Your palm."

I gave her my upturned palm that she held in her hands and examined closely and thoroughly for several minutes in total silence. Finally, letting my palm rest against the table, she covered it with her hand and, looking across at me, said, "You will have the child you desire."

My head snapped up, and my eyes were filled with questions.

"I cannot tell you more, but a seed will be planted that will grow and fulfill your future. There will be a period of mistrust and perceived betrayal between you and the one you love, but stay firm in your resolve and love, and these things will pass. If events are to play out as fate has ordained, you must open your mind and your heart, but you must let your heart lead you and not your mind."

"Do not be afraid. Trust the old one, and if you allow him to guide you, he will help you achieve what you most desire."

And with that, the old woman, Sister Kasimma, rose and left the room, ending the meeting.

I must have sat there for a minute or so trying to figure out what had just happened. When I finally got up and went into the adjoining room, Peggy hurried over to me.

"Well, what did she say? What did she say?" Peggy asked excitedly.

I looked at her and dumbly shook my head.

"Nothing, she didn't say anything that made any sense. Just some mumble jumble able following my heart."

Peggy stared at me and quietly asked, "Are you okay?"

"Yes, yes I'm fine . . . just a bit confused and a little tired, I guess. Peggy, would you mind dropping me off at home?"

"Sure Fran, no problem, no problem at all."

*****

That night, the dreams began. Always the same dream.

In the dream, it was always early afternoon. I'm driving down a street that I'm unfamiliar with, yet when I drive past a small nondescript shop, I feel compelled to stop and go in. After parking, I approach the shop and wonder about the sign above the door, which reads 'Beres Bebesh.' I wonder what it means.

I open the door and step into the suffocating warmth of the dark, musky shop.

The shop at first appears empty. "Hello . . . hello . . . is anyone here?" I call out as I wander around exploring, touching, and smelling the curious objects out on display.

"Hellooooo," I call out again, louder, and as I am about to leave, a man's voice from behind me responds.

"Sorry, Miss, I didn't hear you come in. What can I help you with today?"

I turn at the sound of the voice and stand motionless as I take in the appearance of a tall but wizen old man, dressed in a dark aubergine colored robe. He has piercing grey eyes, and his dark complexion contrasts with a thick shock of white hair that hangs to his shoulders. He had to be in his seventies, yet an aura of masculine sexuality surrounds him and draws me to him on some primal level. Although I know it is impossible, he looks familiar, and I feel unnaturally comfortable in his presence as if I have met him before. Still, I know that can't be, because I've never been to this part of town, to say nothing of this shop before.

The old man puffs away on a thin, dark, strong-smelling cigarette as he intently watches me. I am speechless. Despite his almost unsettling appearance and manner, I can't pull my eyes away from him or understand the growing feeling of helplessness, submissiveness that has begun to envelop me.

His eyes hold mine as he crosses the room towards me. As if hypnotized, I stand there and do not flinch or pull away when he reaches out his hands, unbuttons my blouse, and begin to fondle my now exposed breast. There, in the dimness of the little shop with the shop door unlocked, the windows open, and the coverings fluttering in the afternoon breeze, the old man brazenly begins to suck and tease the nipples of my breasts until they are hard and erect.

In the dream, it never goes any further, but I can feel myself becoming aroused, and as I move hesitantly closer to him, I awaken . . . I awake at the same point in the dream each night.

*****

I must have had this dream for two or three nights in a row. Usually, after a fitful night of restless, interrupted sleep, I would be exhausted on rising in the morning and pretty much had to struggle to stay focused so that I could get through a typical day's activities and responsibilities.

Since visiting the old woman, Sister Kasimma, and with the onset of the dreams, I had felt no sexual desire for Frank's amorous attentions, which only added to the level of tension between us. The dreams, the restless sleep, the lack of sexual intimacy between Frank and I had gone on for almost a week. Then one day, while driving about town running errands, I somehow became lost, and in my effort to find my way back to a part of town that I was familiar with, I glanced up and saw the shop with the sign 'Beres Bebesh' that had been in my dream each night.

Just as in my dream, I approached the building, opened the door, and stepped into the dark, musky shop.

"Hello . . . hello . . . is anyone here?" I called out as I wandered around the shop.

After a short pause, I was about to leave when a voice responded, "I'm sorry, Miss, what can I help you with today?"

I turned at the sound of his voice and stood motionless as I took in the appearance of an old man puffing away on a thin, dark, foul-smelling cigarette. He looked familiar.

I was speechless.

His eyes held mine as he crossed the room towards me. As if hypnotized, I stood there and did not flinch or pull away when he unbuttoned my blouse, unclasped my bra, and began to fondle my bare breast. There in the dimness of the little shop, the old man massaged them and buried his face between my full, warm globes as he sucked, teased, and even lightly bit the sensitive nipples.

"Take off the rest of your clothes," he ordered, and without question or hesitation, I did as I was told.

I now stood completely naked and exposed. Strangely, despite my normally modest nature, I did not try to cover myself from his gaze. I wanted him to see me; 5' 4", 125 lbs., attractive, expressive face, with large green eyes, full sensual lips, thick auburn colored hair, and a neatly trimmed bush of the same color. I took pride in my physical appearance, evidenced in my slender athletic build, small waist, full womanly hips, shapely legs, and high, firm breasts.

"Come here," he said, and as I moved closer to him, he took my hand and led me over to a large upholstered chair in the far corner of the shop. He placed his hand on my shoulder and urged me to kneel in front of him before he settled into the oversized chair.

"That's a good girl, he said, his eyes never for a moment leaving the sight of my dark nipples, hard and extended in their arousal. Trust and obey me, and you will have what you desire . . . do you understand?"

"Yes, Baba, I understand," I replied, momentarily surprised by the use of the term Baba. Why would I call him that?

"Good, my sweet one. Once we have begun our journey together, you will accept without question whatever you are asked to do and share with no one that which happens between us."

"Again, my sweet one, I will ask if you understand?"

I looked up at him and affirmed in a barely audible voice, "Yes, Baba, I understand."

"Now, my child, free penisi im and show your respect, belief, and faith in our journey together as we fulfill your innermost longing."

No other words were exchanged, none were needed . . . I knew what the old man wanted me to do. Kneeling between his legs, I raised the hem of his robe, and taking his old, flaccid cock into my mouth, began to move my hand up and down as I endeavored to make him hard. I circled my tongue around his cockhead and licked and sucked it, giving it life until I felt it begin to swell in my mouth. I could hear the old man moan and then whimper when I caressed and sucked his balls and then used my tongue to gently explore and tease the small opening at the tip of his cockhead.

I held his cock as I sucked it and felt the loose skin of his uncut cock slid over my tongue and brush against the roof of my mouth as he, with an upward thrust of his hips, pushed his cock deeper, seeking the tightness to be found at the back of my throat.

The old man closed his eyes and began to stroke his cock in and out of my mouth. I felt his hands firmly on the back of my head, encouraging me to lean forward and press my mouth onto his now huge cock until his total length was enveloped completely. Taking his balls in my hand, as I continued to suck his dick, I squeezed and massaged them until I felt his body tense and his cock grow bigger seconds before he began to spurt a surprisingly large stream of cum into my mouth.

When he had spent himself, he relaxed back into the chair to recover. As he brushed my damp hair back from my face, I rested my head in his lap and felt a sense of peace and contentment wash over me, feelings I don't think I had experienced in at least the last year or so that Frank and I had been trying to conceive a child.

The old man finally stood and adjusted his robe as he turned and watched me dressed.

"Tomorrow, sweet one, tomorrow you will come again," and with that, he walked me to the shop's unlocked door and showed me out.

*****

Embarrassed and ashamed at what had happened that afternoon with the old man, I took a sleeping pill followed by a large glass of wine before bed. The pill worked quickly, and I drifted into a deep, troubled sleep. Hours later, though groggy, I thought I felt someone mount me and ease their cock inside me. I assumed it was Frank taking advantage of the situation since we hadn't had sex in a while. Despite my initial feeling of resentment toward him, I didn't push him off, and after a while, I could hear him groaning and grunting, feel him thrusting, and my body responding to him . . . it felt good. As my orgasm began to build, my hips started to sway in rhythm with his thrusts, and I slowly opened my eyes and, in my drugged state, could swear it was the face of Baba, the old man staring back at me and not Frank, my husband.

"Shhhh, my sweet one, close your eyes . . . close your eyes," he said reassuringly. My eyes slowly closed again, and I was immediately asleep and slept until morning when I awoke in mid-orgasm, having been masturbating in my sleep.

Frank was lying in bed next to me, still asleep.

I was shaken, and as I got out of bed and went into the bathroom, I told myself that I would not go back to the shop again.

As the morning progressed, my mind kept wandering back to what had happened that night and the confusion about whether it had really happened or if it had been a dream. Around two o'clock that afternoon, I walked through the shop door with no conscious memory of how I had gotten there.

My Baba walked about the shop lighting incense that I later learned released an aphrodisiac substance that reduced inhibitions around sexual behavior and increased sexual desire, sexual attraction, and sexual pleasure. After lighting and placing the incense around the shop, Baba turned to me and opened his robe, exposing himself. I gasped when I saw his nakedness and immediately felt both fearful and sexually intimidated by his size. I had only been with one other man before meeting and marrying Frank, but even in my limited knowledge and experience, I knew Baba was exceptional, and at the sight of him, I felt butterflies in my stomach and a dull warm throbbing between my legs. His penis was huge . . . and . . . and . . . beautiful. Long, thick, jerking, and weeping pre-cum in anticipation of what he was about to do to me. Taking my hand, he led me behind the counter and had me bend over the countertop. Baba removed my panties. I could feel his large hand against my naked body as he ran it along the back of my legs and then between my thighs, not stopping until his hand was cupping my slit and his fingers possessively stroking in and out of my increasingly wet pussy.

"Spread your legs wider, sweet one," he said quietly.

I opened myself for him, and Baba leaned forward and whispered against my ear, "soon, your slim, tight belly will begin to bulge with the child I will give you, and your breast will become heavy and full with milk to nurture him." I shivered.

As Baba spoke these words to me, I relaxed, and my body instinctively softened to accommodate him. My pussy offered no resistance, and sensing my submission Baba pulled my pussy tightly to him, impaling me onto his hard, impatient dick, and began to fuck me with deep, forceful strokes. His cock was big and swollen. It hurt on his first penetration, and without realizing it, I had held my breath as he buried himself inside me. It seemed that almost as quickly as he had begun, my legs began to tremble, and a hot heat exploded between my legs as an intense orgasm rippled through me. I felt lightheaded, and Baba had to support me by pressing me against the counter with his weight as his thrusting increased. At one point, he pulled out until only his swollen, purple cockhead was inside me. "Oh, Baba . . . no," I moaned, thinking he was about to stop when with a final deep, thrust he rammed back inside me, yelling out in some language I did not understand as his back arched and he shot his load, covering and filling my womb with his white, creamy semen.

As Baba lay slumped against my back, he reached under me to lightly brush his fingers against my still engorged clit sending shivers through me.

"I am honored that you have chosen me to plant my seed in your womb," he said as he finger-fucked me to another orgasm.

*****

I would lie awake next to Frank at night, thinking of the old man, never doubting that he would give me a child when Frank couldn't. With Frank's semi-hard cock pressed against the small of my back and his hand nestled between my legs, it was Baba's touch that I yearned for; it was the thought of the old wizen Baba that my clit throbbed and ached for.

My Baba and I met three more times, and each session was more achingly intense and fulfilling than the one before.

Our last afternoon together was perhaps the most memorable.

As usual, Baba had not locked the shop door. Whenever we were together, there was the constant threat of someone walking in on us, a threat that Baba was obviously not concerned about. Unlike the other times when we had been together, this one afternoon, there was no gentleness, no consideration, just the old man aggressively fucking into me from behind as the sound of his sexual grunts and moans filled the shop. It felt different . . . it was almost like we were animals rutting, only concerned with the feelings and sensations of fucking.

"Oh, Baba . . . yes . . . yes," I remember whining in a quivering voice. I was already under the influence of the special incense that was burned whenever I was there, and I vaguely remember seeing the door open and a man coming into the shop. He looked about the dimly lit shop with a questioning expression on his face until his eyes adjusted and came to rest on me.

For a brief, hazy moment, I imagined the man at the door was Frank. He said nothing, just stood watching, mesmerized by who and what he was witnessing. I had to be hallucinating; it couldn't be Frank. I closed my eyes and dismissed the obviously drug-induced idea of it being Frank. The old man never stopped pounding his aged but forceful cock into me during all of this. His breathing increased, and the grip of his large, strong hands tightened on my hips when his thrusting became deeper and faster. As he pulled me into orgasm with him, I could hear myself scream when the hot, gut-wrenching wave washed over me, and as it reached its peak, it was Frank's name on my lips.

When I opened my eyes again, I saw the shop door close behind the man as he left. I remember wondering who the man was and what he must have thought, stumbling on to the sight of an ancient old man holding a young woman about the waist and fucking her with abandon in an empty store that smelled of sex and incense.

Before I could dwell very long on the "what if," Baba began to stroke into me two or three more times, slowly in and out with his full length. He finally began to reluctantly withdraw his softening cock on the third stroke. When Baba pulled out, creamy strings of cum drained out of me, dripped down the inside of my thigh, and pooled on the floor between my spread feet.