Facets of Love Ch. 03

Stopped at a light before pulling out of town, I took a quick glance over at Mary. Never in my life had I, or would I in the future, see a more beautiful woman.

She wasn't movie-star beautiful. Those overly coddled women needed to spend three hours in the makeup trailer before they would step foot in front of a camera.

She wasn't runway model beautiful. Those anorexic, pouty lipped girls had the attitude of a pampered poodle and the chest of a twelve-year-old boy.

She wasn't porn star beautiful. Those artificially endowed bimbos had the vocabulary of a drunken chimpanzee, relying primarily on "Oh baby, that's the spot," and "yes, yesss, yesssss."

Mary's level of beauty was a notch above goddess. She was the mythical "girl next door" everybody talked about, but nobody ever met. She was the woman Sammy Kershaw sang about in his song "She Don't Know She's Beautiful".

And the mind-boggling thing about it. She was my wife.

This woman, the girl any other man in the world would gladly sacrifice his left nut for, said "yes" when I asked her to marry me, and "I do" when the preacher essentially said, "are you sure you want to marry this ass hole?"

I have got to be the luckiest son-of-a-bitch on the planet.

"You having second thoughts?" Mary asked.

"No, not at all," I said, coming out of my trance. "Why?"

"Well, the light's been green for damn near a minute. If you want to get to Florida before the sun goes down, you better take your eyes off my boobs and put your foot on the gas."

At that moment I made a silent promise to myself, my God, and my new bride.

Even though she didn't get the Cinderella wedding she deserved, I will do everything in my power to ensure we live happily ever after.

-

Dr. Martha Weaver Spencer

Mary's embarrassing excuse for a wedding nearly broke my heart. A girl of her caliber and upbringing deserved so much more. The fact that everybody else involved thought it was "just fine", pissed me off to the point of tears.

"Best wedding I've been to in a long time," Robert's hillbilly aunt told me. "And don't be embarrassed about your daughter's tummy. I can't remember the last time one of my kin got hitched without either a baby bump under her pretty white dress or her month-old kid crying in the background. Just be thankful Robert did the proper thing and made an honest woman out of her."

Yeah, I know. I was mentally throwing stones in a glass house, but I was so hoping my daughter wouldn't follow in my footsteps.

On the brighter side of things, Mary was back where she belonged, in her childhood bedroom, which was just across the hall from our master suite.

After eighteen years of living across the hall from our daughter, Frank and I had already mastered the art of quiet but effective sex. During one of those sessions, I introduced my ingenious plan to my husband.

He was laying comfortably on his back, his head supported by a fluffy pillow, his cock ensconced inside my well lubricated pussy. I straddled him with my knees on either side of his hips, my hands on his chest and my boobs swinging tantalizingly close to his mouth. Whenever I wanted Frank's consent to what might be considered a questionable project, I found him much more receptive to new ideas when in this position.

"Do you remember what I said after we got the news that Mary was pregnant?" I asked.

"You said quite a bit and if this is about me contracting a hit on Robert, it's still out of the question." Frank was no fool. As soon as I maneuvered him into the negotiation position, he knew I'd be making a big ask.

"Don't worry. I've moved on from the anger phase. What I'm talking about is our promise to do everything in our power to make their marriage work."

"If what I'm hearing from their bedroom is any indication, they don't need any help from us."

"I'm not talking about now. Mary's reacting to her pregnancy much like I and many other women do. Her hormones are running rampant, throwing her libido into high gear. But three months from now, once the baby comes, everything will change."

"Yeah, I remember it well," Frank sighed. "Having a kid means a lot less sleep and sex, neither of which we can help them with."

"Maybe there is. Harken back to the first few months of Mary's life. Of all the things you had to give up because of our child's birth, which bothered you the most?"

To guide him towards the correct answer, I leaned forward and brushed a tit across his lips.

"Your boobs?!"

"And why is that?"

"Because I wasn't allowed to touch them while you were nursing."

"It's called 'nipple envy'. A post-partum malady suffered by many new fathers. One of the reasons men find pregnant women so sexy is because their boobs become larger and more sensitive. For nine months, the father lovingly suckles at his woman's breast as a major part of sexual foreplay and then, the moment their baby is born, he is cut off.

"What used to be his, now belongs to this crying, peeing, pooping little creature that consumes 99% of his wife's time. And he has no recourse. Think about it. A husband sucking on a nursing mother's tit is akin to stealing his kid's next meal."

"Okay. I'll readily admit that I missed playing with your boobs when Mary was a baby. But I got over it and not only have enjoyed them for the last seventeen years, I look forward to kissing them goodnight, every night, until the day I die.

"More importantly," he continued, "even if this 'nipple envy' thing is real, there's nothing we can do about it and, since it only affects the husband, why the hell do you care? You've never liked Robert."

I could tell I was losing my edge. Frank's erection was starting to shrivel, and my nips had lost their luster. So, I temporarily dismounted, kissed my way down his chest and took him in my mouth. I don't like to brag, but I give one hell of a blow job. I spent nearly two decades perfecting my technique on Frank's penis. I knew exactly what to do to get it up and how to keep it stiff until I got what I wanted.

Ten minutes later, when Frank was in a more receptive mood, I reassumed the negotiation position, his cock in my pussy, my boobs dangling in front of his face, and continued our previous discussion.

"How would you like to make up for the year you missed?" I asked. "If I take the right cocktail of hormones for the next few months, my body will think it's pregnant. Then, with some daily breast stimulation, I can trick my breasts into lactating. With your help, I can make these beauties produce milk again."

"Why would we do that?"

"So I can nurse Mary's baby."

"Doesn't she want to nurse?"

"Of course she does, but I'm going to help her."

"You know I love you Martha," Frank said. "And what your pussy is doing to my lower head is driving me crazy. But my brain is going to need a little more information before I agree to whatever bizarre scheme you've got in mind."

"If both Mary and I are lactating, we can take turns feeding the baby.

"Don't worry," I quickly explained when he gave me a doubting look. "I don't plan on spoiling the girl. Mary will do most of the work. I'm certainly not going to get up in the middle of the night to change a diaper and feed the kid. But I'd be willing to take the evening feeding and maybe the mid-morning session."

"Are you afraid she won't have enough milk to feed the child?"

"No, not at all. A woman's body will produce all the milk her child needs. It's nature's version of supply and demand."

"Then why would she need your help?"

"So Robert won't get a case of nipple envy."

Frank's exaggerated eye roll indicated he still didn't get it.

"Here's how it's going to work. Mary's boobs are primary. She feeds the baby whenever she can. My boobs are secondary. I feed the child when Mary isn't available, or she has something better to do."

"What could possibly be more important than nursing her baby?" Frank asked.

"Keeping her marriage strong by making love to her husband. Imagine, when Mary was a baby, if instead of me spending the evening hours nursing Mary and putting her to bed, we had a wet maid take care of that while you and I had sex. Sex that included you getting to suck on my tits and getting a stream of sweet milk for your efforts."

"What if Robert isn't around when you're feeding the baby? You said that you were going to take the mid-morning feeding. I sure don't want him missing an hour of work every day just so he can play with his wife's titties. What does Mary do with her excess milk when he's not available?"

"Simple, Mary hooks up to a breast pump and either stores her milk in the fridge or donates it to a milk bank."

"And what about you?" Frank asked with a twinkle in his eye. "What do you do with your excess milk?"

"Same as Mary. Either pump it out myself or feed it to my husband."

Frank didn't exactly say yes to my plan. But when his lips latched on to my nipple, his cock plunged deeper into my cunt than it had for quite a while, and his balls unloaded more cum than they had in a decade, I knew I had his enthusiastic consent.

-

Robert Ryan Jones

I would have been happier living in a two-bedroom, one-bath apartment than the Spencer's five-bedroom, four-bath mini-mansion. It made sense, living with her parents. The price was right, and Mary would want her mother around once the baby came. But what we gained in convenience, we lost in privacy. Despite all its faults, there were times when we missed the trailer I called home in Auburn. We missed it at night, when we had made loud, passionate love, and in the morning, when Mary gave me my daily blow job, and during the weekends, when we wandered around my small mobile home stark naked.

I know. The Spencer's guest bedroom was three times as big as what we had in Auburn and the bed itself was twice as large and immeasurably more comfortable than the one in the trailer. But the trailer was in the middle of a five-acre field. The squirrels which populated the surrounding trees never complained when Mary giggled as I kissed her nips. The local rabbits weren't offended by Mary's moans as I licked her lower slit. And when Mary sang out louder than an opera star hitting a high note when I plunged my cock into her depths, never once did a passing deer knock on our door insisting that we "keep it down in there".

To be perfectly fair, Mary's parents never complained about our vociferous bedroom activities. True, two days after we joined them, they moved us from the bedroom across the hall from theirs to one on the opposite side of the house. But that may not have been completely our fault. It wasn't as if they were the proverbial church mice themselves. While we never heard either Frank or Martha come out with a "my god I'm coming", it's not as if we didn't know they also were doing it. When those two got into a rhythm, the sound of their bed thumping against the wall resonated down the hall and through the ceiling below like a woodpecker pounding his beak on an aluminum rain gutter.

And let's talk about wandering around the house naked. As one would expect, we didn't do it. I never left our bedroom without at least a pair of shorts covering my ass and, even though she was in her parent's house, Mary made sure she remained modestly dressed as well. The only time we saw Frank in anything except work or leisure wear was the rare occasion he put on a suit for some formal event. And while Martha wasn't one to do laundry in her birthday suit, she did have a habit of making breakfast in her nighty, which she wore braless.

Don't get me wrong. While not exactly what I wanted, our living conditions were much better than most people our age could expect and, after several weeks under the Spencer's roof, I grew to appreciate what we had.

One upside to what I hoped would be a temporary situation was it gave me a chance to observe Mary's parents in their natural environment.

Martha was a head strong woman who ran her own private therapy practice and trended towards the control freak side of the spectrum. Frank owned a company with over sixty employees, so he also was used to being in charge. Yet, despite their competing type A personalities, they somehow made it work.

They certainly had different opinions on several subjects, me being the obvious example. Martha thought I was the devil who lured her virgin daughter to the gates of hell. Frank treated me like the son he always wanted but never had. There was no doubt in my mind that my position in their family was the subject of numerous heated discussions between the two of them. Since we never heard them argue, I suspected that those discussions took place in their bedroom, most likely with their clothes off.

After watching the two of them in action for a couple of months, it became abundantly clear that their love for each other, and for their daughter, compelled them to back off from their shared tendency towards "bull headedness" and arrive at a mutually satisfying compromise (and likely mutually satisfying sexual peaks).

So, for the months of June and July, I tried my best to stay out of Martha's way, work my ass off for Frank, and do everything in my power to make Mary's third trimester as enjoyable as possible. Which, in Mary's case, meant bringing her pregnant, hormonal body to at least two orgasms a day. As one would expect, there were times I couldn't keep all three of my housemates happy.

Such as my monthly business trips to Oklas.

-

July 2018

Oklas was a very small town which straddled the Oklahoma-Texas border, hence its strange name. James Spencer, Frank's brother and business partner, wrangled a deal with some obscure government agency to build a state-of-the-art cardboard box manufacturing facility in what was essentially a failing farm town. Because of its unique location, James convinced the congressional delegations of both states to throw a few million dollars into an already bloated economic recovery plan and, with the help of James' buddies in the DC political scene, the grant was steered towards our company.

The Oklas plant had been in operation for only a few months when I moved to Florida. It was functional but suffering from growing pains. Part of my new job was to make periodic visits to the fledgling facility to make sure the new machinery operated as expected. This was essentially the task I was hired to do. It took advantage of my innate familiarity with machinery and my newly acquired engineering knowledge. It was my chance to prove my worth, a situation I would normally dive into headfirst. Except it meant time away from Mary.

"Why does Robert have to go?" Mary asked her father the evening before my first trip to Oklas. "Can't you or Uncle James babysit the Oklas workers?"

"It's not the workers we're worried about," Frank said. "It's the damn computers. That's the main reason we hired Robert. He understands all this new automatic crap, we don't."

James, who had a standing invitation to the Spencer's Sunday night dinners, received a wistful look from his niece.

"Sorry Mary," James said. "If I could, I'd gladly go in his stead, but when it comes to stuff like computer aided design or manufacturing, I'm a troglodyte."

"It's only five days," Martha interjected. "Robert will be home before you realize he's gone."

"Really mom? Only five days? Since you've been married, when was the last time you spent five nights alone in your bed without Dad?"

Mary let the question linger in silence for a few seconds.

"How about never," Mary continued. "And the few times you spent even a single night away from Dad, I slept with you. Like the night you drove me up to Auburn."

"Sweetheart don't let my insecurities guide your life. Just because I can't sleep without your father next to me doesn't mean you shouldn't strive to be a more independent woman."

"Suppose I don't want to be independent? Suppose I want Robert and me to be just like you and Dad, always together. The source of each other's strength. I have no problem needing him and hope he will always need me. I know this trip to Oklas is part of Robert's job, but I don't have to like it.

"Sorry," Mary said turning towards James. "You didn't need to hear all that."

"Don't apologize for being a loving family," James told his niece. "If all dinner table arguments were about how much they needed each other, your mother would be out of a job."

Later that evening, after dinner was over, dessert was consumed, and James said his farewells, the rest of us retired to our respective bedrooms. During the interlude between me guiding Mary to her first orgasm and she riding me to her second, she started to tear up.

It's not like I'd never seen Mary cry before, and this certainly wasn't our first-time making love, but it was the first time she cried during sex. I wasn't forcing her. She was on top and doing most of the work. If she wasn't enjoying it, all she had to do was stop and dismount. But she didn't stop. With her hands on my chest to support her belly, she slowly massaged my erection with her baby birthing tube while torrents of tears flowed down her cheeks, splashing off her boobs to land on my stomach.

I'll be damned if I knew what to do or say when the woman you're screwing is crying, so I kept my mouth shut and let her lead. Her soft whimpers of sorrow eventually turned into moans of pleasure and, even though the tears continued to flow, so did both of our sexual juices. I came shortly after Mary, but she continued to cry while I eased my deflating cock out of her warm, wet, wonderful hole.

"You want to talk about it?" I asked as I held her in my arms.

"I'm a horrible person."

"Why? Because you want to be like your mother and love your husband?"

"No dummy. That makes me a good person."

"Then what makes you horrible?"

"The way I treated Uncle James."

"Huh?"

"I ruined dinner by complaining about you leaving for a week and then, to make matters worse, I chastised Mom for never having slept alone since the day she was married."

"Okay, that might have been a bit awkward, but it certainly doesn't put you in the horrible category. And even if you might have pissed off your parents, how the hell does that affect James?"

"Don't you get it? Uncle James is forty-something and, as far as we know, he's never had a girlfriend. He goes home every day to an empty house while I'm pitching a fit because I'll be sleeping alone for a few days. And, just to pile on, I also reminded him that his brother is sleeping with a damn sex expert every night of his life."

"Have you considered the possibility that James might be gay?"

"He isn't. Mom's gaydar is top of the line. She can spot a gay guy from two hundred yards. She and I have had this conversation several times and she insists James isn't into men."

"Maybe he's one of those people who isn't interested in sex."

"Could be. Mom thinks he might be asexual. But even if that's the case, it still makes me sad. If it wasn't for my parents and me, he wouldn't have any social life at all. Can you imagine living your entire life alone?"

"I'm having trouble imagining a week without you."

Having shed all her tears, Mary rolled onto her side, and I spooned up behind her, letting my hand drape over her belly, feeling our baby move less than an inch from my palm.

"There were five people at the dinner table tonight," I said. "You were the only one who cared about James' feelings. Those are not the thoughts of a horrible person."

She didn't answer. Might have fallen asleep. Even so, the words needed to be said.

-

I had to get up before the sun the next morning so I could catch a dawn flight out of Tampa to Dallas. Not sure of myself, I left at least an hour earlier than required to catch my 6:00 am flight. Needless to say, I didn't get my customary morning blow job before sneaking out of our bedroom like a thief in the night.