Breeding the Help Ch. 02

"How many you think are in there?" I asked in a soft, possessive growl, throbbing against the underside of her bulging little belly.

Maria gave me an admonishing but then lovingly wry look at how hopelessly horny I was for her, pursing her lips in appreciation for being such a desired female. I felt her hands slide over the top of mine in a gesture of affection, but at the same time the slut in her couldn't help but drive me wild by starting to gyrate her hips to push out her tight pregnant belly, slowly undulating against me and my big straining dick. My horny broodmare looked at me with hooded eyes, tipping her head slowly as she traced my hands in hers over her gently moving bump.

"You fuck me too much, ah, want me be so preg-nant, I know..." she intoned in a sexy little hiss. "I go clinic, see, but...hn hn sobrang laki na ng tiyan...my body say must be more baby." She ran her tongue along her teeth, over her upper lip, nodding. "I think I making two baby now for you, Carl Daddy..." Maria declared huskily, proudly, in what was the most erotic fucking moment of my teenage life.

My sexy broodmare let out a lusty wail as I responded by gripping her hips and twisting her around to force her up against the shower wall, covering us in its welcoming jet. She grunted throatily as I manhandled her, hands bracing into the tile as I brutishly spread her legs with my knees, pushing her ass up to present her hairy, well-used mare cunt to me. Her back arched as she surrendered herself again like the good, receptive slut she was, the distended globe of her abdomen with its popped navel hanging between her legs driving me absolutely insane.

With a snarl, I unceremoniously hilted her, easily stretching her well-used pussy to swallow my entire length again. The thought of my Filipina woman's body growing massively pregnant with a crowded womb, squirming heavily with multiple children as she waited broody in a squalid hut for me...something primitive took over. I fucked her hard and deep, head back as the water washed over our rutting bodies. She whimpered and cried out with each thrust, pushed further and further up against the wall, belly and breasts swinging as I pistoned in and out. All she could do was spread her legs wider to let me use her and ravage her pregnant body. I existed only to rut and seed this woman in that moment, to relish in all the fruits and forbidden pleasures of her oriental body. To show her that I was a grateful, possessive mate.

My selfish orgasm came first as I ground into her as deep as I could, once again marking this truly fertile female as my property. Ever a slave to my big white cock, Maria came soon after my hot cum exploded into her hairy cunt, her pussy lips winking around me as she trembled against the wet, cascading tile wall with a hoarse whine of ecstasy. Truly drained, I huffed against her back, draped over her small body as I clutched her belly and gripped a heavy teat, toying with her nipple. Maria came again, then again, before looking back at me with a self-satisfied expression, supremely feminine, almost feline in its smugness. She wriggled her ass back against me cutely, loving the feeling of being filled and owned by me. I pulled out slowly and drew her to me again. Maria's small frame leaned heavily against mine in the growing haze of the shower mist.

"Good night, husbaand," she purred at me in her room after we cleaned up and I was ready to creep back upstairs into my bed. She leaned in to kiss me with more than a little tongue, sitting cross-legged on her nest of bedding in panties and an old lime green tee that stretched over her big tits and did nothing to hide the brown midriff bump that was starting to peek up the hem. I reciprocated eagerly before moving down to kiss our offspring.

****

A few days later, I was joining my parents at the family dining table for another breakfast before my daily slog through 12th grade academia. My mother had been up my ass about college applications, convinced that with my improved grades and our family connections that I still had a realistic shot at one of the Ivies on her list. Or, at worst, she'd hold her nose for Duke. As usual, it was all about what would make her look best.

Ready for work in a business suit that did a good job of downplaying his balding, out-of-shape 50s, Dad was a peripheral voice in my life at best, consumed in his work with Barings and Credit Lyonnais. I honestly didn't even know what he did except that he was a mustached business and finance exec. His titles kept changing as he climbed the corporate ladder. I knew he was loaded, but the tired eyes and hollow expression he wore around my mom made it clear that being rich wasn't buying him happiness.

Mother did a good job of pretending to be happy behind that vulpine smile of hers, for the PTA and the Foundation and anyone else rich enough for the privilege of being in her orbit. She came from old money and acted like it. Mother was dressed in what she called her 'layaround Chanel'.

I marveled at the breakfast feast that Maria had set out for us. That girl had been working her ass off, as usual, to provide us with what looked like high-end hotel fare. She knew what we liked -- truffled eggs and homemade artisanal bread for Mother, smoked salmon bagel and eggs benedict for Dad, along with steaming, specialty coffee for both. Scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, and a short stack of syrupy pancakes waited for me in front of my empty seat. An icy pitcher of freshly squeezed orange juice was the centerpiece, surrounded by an arrangement of fresh flowers.

No one appreciated it but me.

Maria wasn't around when I slid into my chair in my dress code black school shirt, cream khakis, and newish pair of Airwalks. As usual, she'd made my meal perfectly. I dug in with gusto.

"Hey Champ," came my dad's predictable, perfunctory greeting from behind his newspaper.

"There he is," Mother sighed before launching into another discontented tirade. "It's a shame you're not coming with me to the Riviera for Christmas. Côte d'Azur is beautiful in December, an absolute dream...of course it's more important for you to get all your applications in, but if you'd just started earlier like I'd told you, you wouldn't have had to neglect your family obligations and stay behind..."

More like I'd rather stay home with Maria while you're gone to play politics with your side of the family and Dad fucks off back to Manhattan to be with Nana and Aunt Leah.

I tuned Mother out as best as I could. I was thinking about how overjoyed Maria was last night when I gave her 8,000 Baht of my 10-grand allowance -- a pitiful $400 US. But it was more than my parents paid for her monthly salary, which somehow seemed very unfair. It wasn't like I really needed it anyway. I'd usually just blow it all hanging out with friends at night. But now those crazy coming-of-age nights all belonged to Maria.

As the breakfast table descended into the usual frayed-marriage silence, Maria sauntered out of the kitchen with a brimming pitcher of passion fruit juice for the table. She gave me a quiet Mona Lisa smile when no one else was looking. Today Maria had decided to wear a pink polo work shirt and gray sweat shorts -- usual domestic helper attire for her along with the topknot. What was different though was how much that shirt had filled out. Whatever tipping point we'd flaunted until now had finally been reached. Her round, protruding belly just couldn't be hidden anymore. Though still small, it was now prominent and tautly defined enough that there was no way it could be passed off as just weight gain. Our housekeeper was visibly pregnant out in the open now with her gravid little bump and enlarged tits pressed against the stretching fabric, almost demanding attention; broadcasting our maid's fertility for all to see. I didn't know if Maria even noticed when she put it on this morning, considering how the shirt had always been a bit loose.

No way my self-absorbed parents could miss it now. I panicked internally, berating myself for encouraging Maria to dress normally in my sex-fogged arrogance, to encourage this outcome. Yeah we talked about it and expected it and it was part of my stupid-ass plan, but it really felt like a stupid ass plan as our maid hummed happily to herself and sidled to the table to deposit the pitcher. Unbelievably at first, my mother still didn't notice, but when she looked up and Maria turned to leave, she must have seen her side profile -- it didn't fucking help that my Filipina gave the upper curve of her belly a soothing maternal caress at the same time.

My mother's critical eyes followed Maria from over the lip of her coffee mug, a brow rising in distaste. She put it down and assumed an expression of disdain, picking at the truffle-infused eggs in front of her. When our maid disappeared back into the kitchen, she pressed her lips into a thin line.

"Well. It looks like Maria is in the family way," my mother declared loudly.

I nearly choked on my juice.

"I suppose we'll need to start looking for a new housekeeper soon," Mother continued with an impatient glare at the newspaper screen hiding my father's face across the table from her. "Donald."

"Hmm?" My dad finally looked up, lowering the latest edition of the Bangkok Post. "Oh, that's a shame, isn't it. She's been very good to us."

"Yes, well," my mother continued, clearly flustered that my father wasn't as outraged as she was. "I don't suppose she'll be able to work for us full-time and take care of her baby, do you?" Mother squared her jaw, rapping her ringed fingers over the fine teak wood of our table. "I need to ask the agency and the Foundation mothers if they can recommend anyone good this late in the year."

"She's been with us going on almost two years now," my father said calmly. "I don't mind keeping her if she still wants to work, Ruth."

Mother gave my father an ice-cold glare. I could see the veins stand out in her neck, her fingernails digging into the table. She was about to say more, and I was going to interrupt and set my half-baked plan into motion, but my father beat me to it.

"We'll talk about it with her today after work, Dearest," Dad said, before the newspaper snapped open and went up again.

Mother was furious, glaring at him in a rage before her eyes narrowed with something even uglier. Clearly my dad wasn't handling the scandal the way she wanted. With a clatter of plates and a screech of her chair legs, my mother stormed out of the dining area and up the stairs. Probably to take a Valium with a glass of red. Her favorite coping mechanism.

I took a moment to calm myself down. I saw an opportunity but was pulling everything out my ass at this point.

"I think we should keep her, Dad," I spoke up, breaking the awkward silence as I glanced from my plate. "She's got people who depend on her back home, you know?"

My father looked at me from the side, curious.

"How do you know that?"

"It's part of my Social Studies unit on, like, migrant workers and the economy," I lied easily, knowing he had no idea what the hell I was up to at school. "They're all like that. I interviewed her for my class. Her parents are in debt and she's putting her sister through school."

"Huh." Satisfied with my explanation, my father nodded. "Thatta boy, keeping up with your books. I heard your grades keep improving too. Maybe you'll be a Wharton man like your pop if you work at it."

I laughed awkwardly. "Haha, yeah, sure thing. Anyway, I like Maria, you know? She cooks really good and the house is always nice."

"Mhm. Well, it's not your decision, Champ, but I appreciate that you care about it. For the record, I want her to stay too, especially if she's got folks depending on her." My father chuckled, turning the page as he got back to reading. "You know, your grandmother had me young, and she worked the burn unit of Bellevue right up until she went into labor. Didn't think a thing about turning 300-pound patients over when she was 9 months with me."

"Damn, I didn't know Nana did that," I whistled.

"Women can be extraordinary creatures," he mused. "And an extraordinary pain!" Dad tapped his Palm Pilot after taking another bite of his bagel. "Don't you have a bus to catch?"

"Uh crap, yeah. Thanks, Dad. Just gonna grab some water first."

"Carpe diem, Champ."

I wolfed down the rest of my breakfast and downed it with a gulp of juice, backing out of my chair and grabbing my waiting bag. I found Maria in the kitchen washing up by the sink with yellow latex gloves. As I went towards her, I heard the trundle of the school van as it idled outside our gate, waiting for me. Not much time. I stopped next to Maria and whispered in her ear, a hand on her back.

"Maria, listen -- don't let my mom talk to you alone today, whatever you do, okay? Wait until my dad is back. Go out and shop or something. It's just like we talked. They know but they don't know about us." She looked terrified but nodded, sniffling but holding it in. The van honked obnoxiously outside.

"Ah fuck." I bent down to press my forehead against hers, stealing a quick kiss. "It's gonna be OK," I lied comfortingly. "Trust me."

I tore away from her as our maid watched me in helpless silence with her back to the sink, water running. I opened the fridge, grabbed a bottle of water, and slammed the door loudly before I rushed out to catch the bus.

This was the day it might all blow up in my fucking face. Or the day we were given the time we needed to somehow make this crazy love all work out.

*****

To say I was a nervous wreck at school was the understatement of the century. Couldn't concentrate, couldn't function except to steer myself on autopilot through the motions of each class and cocurricular obligation. I lived in the liquid crystal display of the Casio around my wrist, counting down the hours, minutes, and sometimes seconds until 3:00pm. I mean, that had been me most days anyway, trying to keep my head down and survive the meat grinder of an elite, preppy-ass international school -- if the dog-eat-dog academics didn't crush the soul out of your body, the social games sure as hell would.

Being honest with myself though, it'd actually been getting better over the past few months. More bearable. Survivable, even, just like the rest of my life trapped in third world Thailand. I had this easy confidence about me that I'd never had before, and people noticed. I'd been getting more assertive; making more friends. I wasn't some fringe misanthrope anymore. The pressures that had been suffocating me just didn't seem to matter as much. Even classes were pretty manageable after I started trying again.

Of course it was all because of Maria. Not because she told me to care beyond that gentle nagging to do my schoolwork and study harder, but because she'd filled an awful, empty need in my life. Showed me I wasn't some fucking loser farang kid trapped in Bangkok.

All I could think about was her. Not being there, not being in control of the situation, it was eating me up inside. I mean, she was my first love.

I was sitting in the concrete shade of the open-air cafeteria during break with the usual crew of kids that I hung out with; a motley assortment of semi-jocks and low-achievers. They might not have looked it, but all of them had powerful fathers. There were those who bragged about it, like pimply, mouthy Kurt trying to rock his Lacoste, Chino shorts, loafers and Panther blazer -- his dad was the general manager of IBM. And there were the ones who didn't, like laid-back Vincent with the gallon of hair gel he used every morning and that all-black ensemble -- Ford country exec. Chizzy, this big friendly Nigerian kid on the soccer team whose father was the Honorary Consul to Thailand. There were others in big oil, big sugar, big whatever. And then there was Stephen. His dad was a teacher that taught Shop class. But that didn't matter, because Stephen was funny as hell. And he was one of us.

"...Yo, check it, it's like this," Vincent was saying, gesturing empathically. "Holy trinity of rap. Dre is God, Eminem is Jesus, and Tupac is the Holy Ghost..."

"No no no, you are forgetting Jay-Z," Chizzy butted in with his deep baritone and sonorous Nigerian accent. "And Puff Daddy. At least Jay-Z is the Devil..."

"...So, Snoop Dog's, like, Moses?" Stephen wondered aloud.

While my friends argued biblical rap bullshit, the slowly scrolling pixel boxes of my snake wound their way across the dull screen of my Nokia as I attempted to keep it from going ouroboros on itself.

Blip. Blip. Blip.

The conversation ebbed and flowed around me as I tried not to get too deeply into my head. I was unbelievably tense.

"...Oh shiiiiiit, is that Katie Barrows?" Kurt leered out of the side of his mouth and everyone fell silent. "Hey Carl. HEY DUM-DUM, she's waving at you!"

I looked up from the tangled 8-bit coils of my phone and saw the former object of my affections seated with her friends a few tables away. It was like Katie was straight out of one of my old fantasies -- wearing this short-sleeved, collared pastel blouse with a white cardigan tied around her cinched waist. Dark plaid pleated skirt and a pair of sandals. Long, smooth, pale legs. She wasn't nearly as well-endowed as Maria, but Katie was seriously model-gorgeous in our campus world. Both of them had killer bodies -- Katie was much more on the athletic side, being a swimmer and a dancer. The difference between them was obvious though; Katie Barrows was the highest caste of them all. Rich, white, popular, and highly intelligent. She had this aura about her that screamed she always got what she wanted, like she knew she was smoking hot and how to use it. Definitely the kind of girl my mother would approve of.

Hell yeah the bitch was fine. Smokey green eyes framed in mascara, long blonde hair and a beautiful, angular face. And she was staring straight at me with this friendly, slightly flirty smirk. Beckoning me over.

I knew that look. Obvious entreaty. Probably wanted to do a study group with me or something after school. Make out. Make me her latest boytoy. Or just straight-up humiliate me in front of her friends. Who knew.

Who cared.

I just wasn't interested in playing Katie's games and initiating whatever adolescent mating ritual she had in mind. If I wanted pussy, I'd just go sniffing for Maria back home. I only wanted her. She was a real woman. I gave Katie a curt, expressionless wave and lowered my gaze back into the little screen. Blip. Blip. Blip.

My friends started talking shit almost immediately.

"...Did you...did you just blow Katie Barrows off?" Stephen gaped. "Katie Barrows, one of the hottest fucking girls in school? You do realize she actually wanted to talk to you, right? In public."

"He is gay." Chizzy said sagely. "A man who rejects a goddess can only be gay."

"I mean, that doesn't make any sense, c'mon Carl," Vincent urged. "Just go over there, you can still --"

"Naaw, it makes perfect sense," Kurt sneered from my left, clearly jealous. "Dum-Dum's not gay. He just doesn't like white girls, isn't that right, Dum-Dum? He likes the lil' brown monkeys, remember?" Kurt started up in that racist fucking accent of his again: "That ching-chong Thai pussy, and them houskeepahs who wanna suckey fuckey you roooong time --"

I saw red and just reacted. I dropped my phone, turned, wrapped my strong hands around his skinny neck, and squeezed with all my pent-up rage.

"Glggghhkkkk..kkkk..." Kurt gurgled as I strangled him. His face turned red as his beady eyes started to pop out of his head. For a good while the others just looked on in horror as Kurt struggled weakly against me, gasping for air with his tongue grotesquely sticking out. But as his eyes glazed over and he stopped moving, my other friends were pulling me back, barking at each other. Kurt slumped in his chair motionless when I let go, snot smeared from his nose across his drooling mouth. It didn't look like he was breathing.