Family Disrupted Pt. 03

My entire world folded into a black box and exploded.

"Carter? You can't mean--"

"He's the father of this baby," she said, rubbing her fertile tummy, "And he deserves to be free in the world to raise it with me."

I burst into tears. Carter Smith! Raising a child with my wife? Free from prison? No.

"Oh, sweetheart, don't cry. It would just be coparenting. I still love you." She touched her hand up to the glass. I met her hand with mine.

"You do? It just... was so long between the last time you visited me."

"Yes dear, I'm sorry about that. But I wanted to be certain that I was pregnant before I told you."

"I understand. But, it was torture to go this long without seeing you. I need to feel you. I need your touch. Can we please, please, go to one of the trailers?"

Samantha frowned.

"In my condition," she said, "With the baby... I shouldn't be engaging in intercourse with a man who is not the child's father."

"Then just stroke me off, please!" I begged, "I'm so horny and you are so goddamn sexy."

"Sweetheart, don't be crude." Samantha was blushing.

"Please. Just one stroke. I'll cum immediately. Please."

I was desperate. Anything to feel her touch.

"I'm sorry, I just... my body is a complex system. And it's supporting a baby. Say that I do what you say, and I jerk you off. The skin is a porous substance, and there's a baby inside. A baby that you're not the father of. Is that really appropriate, for you to ejaculate by my hand, when I'm carrying another man's baby?"

I wanted to scream: I don't care! But I couldn't raise my voice at Samantha, not when she looked so alluring. I felt defeated.

"Believe me," she said, "I've been horny too. On my dates--"

"Dates?! What do you mean, dates?!"

Samantha rolled her eyes.

"I'm a woman out in the world, Drew, I need some companionship."

"But I thought you said-- we are still married."

"I'm not having sex," Samantha said, "I promise. I still belong to you and you alone. It's just a chance to, you know, feel like a woman again. Get dressed up in something sexy. Go out and be seen as a sensual being. Feel appreciated by a man, a man with a warm touch and a strong energy. It's harmless, I swear."

"You swear... it's not sexual?"

Samantha leaned forwards, pity in her eyes.

"I didn't say it wasn't sexual. We just aren't having sex. I mean, when he opens the car door for me at the restaurant, my loins get wetter than a janitor's mop. And yes, perhaps, I might give him a little dance at home afterwards, maybe a little peak under my dress. Sometimes, yes, I'll let him touch himself while I touch myself."

This was impossible. Samantha, masturbating in front of someone while he stroked himself too?

"Who... who is this stranger?" I asked.

"Oh he's not a stranger. You met him. His name is Maestro, he raises fighting dogs. He was at Tyson and Alexa's BBQ, the night before you were arrested."

Maestro... you mean the big dicked fucker whose dog almost tore our son to shreds.

"Yes," she said, "Well, that son has been torn to shreds now, so I really don't see the problem. When you were taken away, like I said, we lost our money and had to move to a rougher neighborhood. Maestro lives down the block. He's a frequent guest in our home."

I remembered Samantha telling me about the home... it was one room big.

"So while you're touching yourself and he's touching himself... where is our son during all this?"

"Watching, of course," she said, "He's such a creep. But he stares at the cock about as much as he stares at me."

"And Maestro is just okay with this?"

Samantha laughed. "No, not at all. Usually, Maestro will have some fun with the fag before and after."

"Fun?"

"You know, with the dogs. He has so many big terrificly huge dogs. He'll sick them on the boy, and they'll chase him around, tackle him to the floor. Honestly, the faggot looks so weak when Maestro's dogs get him down. It just makes me so wet. Maestro says whenever I want, he'd happily take the faggot home with him. He's apparently got his own dog food making machine, and it'd be so easy for their to be an accident and the fag to just end up sealed in half a dozen cans..."

"Samantha! You can't be serious."

Samantha just shrugged and put on her glasses.

"You're not around anymore. A lot has changed. I really think the faggot is a creep. I don't feel good about him, Drew, not one bit."

"He's your son."

"Well, he'd make better dog food than a son."

This time, I had to excuse myself. My wife needed to meet with Carter, tell him the news of his paternity, and that he might even be released to help raise the baby.

"Can I... can I just watch you in the trailer first? Touch myself, like you do with Maestro?"

"Oh sweetie, maybe if we had started with that. But now there's no time, toodles."

And the guard came and got me. As I was leaving, I saw another guard come and speak to Samantha.

"Oh," she shouted, "It seems my meeting with Carter is indeed in the trailer. So we could have met there after all. Maybe next time!"

--

Luckily, the next time I saw Carter, it was clear that he had not ejaculated. All his good news had not improved his mood.

"That bitch wife of yours," he said, "Showed me her titties and expected me to jerk off to them."

At least Carter had gotten to see those magnificent breasts, swollen with her hormones as her body began to change.

"I said, 'it's my baby. Let me fuck the shit out of you.'"

But my Samantha had stayed firm. Even as she grew inside of her the child of Carter, she was still loyal.

"At least maybe I'm getting out," Carter said, "Then I can knock up a dozen more big titty bitches like your wife."

That was fine by me. If Carter was there as a reminder to the child of what a terrible person is, I didn't care if he went and fucked a hundred other busty white women.

Something bugged me though, and it was this: why was Samantha so confident that the baby wasn't mine? Sure, I had eaten loads of my cum out of her, but that couldn't medically prevent a baby. There was still some chance...

The next time I was beaten up and sent to the infirmary, I asked one of the nurses.

"Sure," she said, "It's possible... if your sperm is strong enough."

"How could I tell if it was?"

"We could do a sample," she said.

I begged her to do a sample, but she said she was do busy.

The next day, I saw Trish volunteering in one of the medical supply closets. I rushed over to her.

"Hey, it's the loser cuck," she said with a smile.

"Trish," I said, "The craziest thing has happened."

I told her all about Samantha's pregnancy: about my ejaculation inside of her, how I ate it out and how she used Plan B. And about the many loads Carter fired into her while fucking her brains out.

"Well, my money's on Carter," she said with a giggle, "There's no man that screams virility like him. As for you--" she looked me up and down, "I wouldn't be surprised if your sperm came back testing positive for estrogen." She laughed at this joke.

"Please," I said, "Is there a way we can do a sample?"

"I've heard of this," she said, "We can actually do an early stage paternity test. It won't be as accurate as a late stage one, but I've read a lot about it. When there's two candidates for paternity, we'll just need sperm samples from each of you and we can compare that to the cells in the mother."

"Are you serious?"

"Yes. And as a volunteer, I'm authorized to retrieve those samples."

I couldn't believe it. Trish was going to not only validate my paternity. She was going to help me cum.

"Let me go get Carter Smith and we can do it now."

So, moments later, there I was, sitting in the infirmary on a bench next to Carter Smith.

"Mmmm Trish, you're one frigid bitch. Come and let me get some of that pussy again."

"I told you Carter, you've fucked your last fuck in my holes... if I let you in there again, you'll kill me."

"That is the truth... still, baby, let me hit it, I promise you'll enjoy."

Trish just shook her head no.

"Now, Mr. Lokkens," she said, with a devious smile, "Please disrobe."

I happily stripped off my clothes and stood before sexy youthful Trish. There was something about her juicy lips and thick glasses that was getting me extra hard.

"Damn," Carter said, "I forgot how true it is what they say: white boys are built like black thumbs." And he waggled his short thumb at me.

"Your penis is rather small," Trish said, "I don't even think I can get a sample by jerking you off."

"That's preposterous. Please you can do it."

"I have another way," she said, pressing my cock and balls with a tongue depressor, "Though before we get there, looking at these balls, I have to wonder: are you sure you want them at all?"

"Huh?"

"I mean, Mr. Lokkens, these are just the most pathetic set of shriveled ugly white balls I've ever seen. And you're so desperately horny, it's entirely disgusting to even watch you live. Wouldn't you be much happier if I just SNIP" Here, she made a snipping motion with her fingers. "I could even get rid of that pathetic little cock with it."

"Absolutely not!" I shouted.

"It's a shame," she said, "That little ball sack would make such a nice trinket for my desk. Maybe a change purse, for what, a single quarter?"

"Let Trish have your balls," Carter said. I shouted again: no way.

"Shame," Trish said, "What were you convicted of again?"

"Tax evasion."

"Ah. You know, for certain crimes, like international ones, I actually don't need to ask your permission. I'd be allowed to just *snip* as much as I wanted. Your balls would be mine."

I shivered at the thought.

"Anyway," Trish said, "Like I was saying. There's an easy way to get your semen without me having to stroke your cock."

She spun me around and bent me over the table like a common whore.

"This might hurt at first," she said, rubbing lube all over her finger. Without warning, the finger went straight up my butthole, cold and hard.

"Oh!" I shouted.

"Your wife made those same noises, hehehe," Carter said.

"Now, I just apply pressure to your prostate," Trish said. I felt my balls start to move, my cock getting harder and harder.

"Ah!" I shouted. She had done it! My cock was spasming uncontrollably, sperm leaking out my dick like a fire hose.

"Damn, you really milked that white boy."

Trish gave a smile like that of a frat boy who just deflowered a virgin. She slapped my ass like I was her property.

"That's a good little boy," she teased, "Making your cummies."

"Stop," I begged.

"Maybe there's more."

In went her finger, pressing my prostate like a button. Every time she did it, my head rolled back and my cock spasmed.

"She's wearing you like a puppet!"

"Wow, I have you totally under my control," Trish said with a smile.

There was plenty of cum by the end of it for Trish to scoop into a petri dish.

Then, she tossed her gloves into the trash and moved onto Carter.

"Now, Mr. Smith," she said, holding his cock with both her hands, "This is a cock I can stroke."

"How about you let me slide it into you real quick," he said. She shook her head.

Though she held firm to her promise that she would not fuck Carter Smith, she certainly had fun with the process of stroking him off. She gave her hands a healthy glob of spit. She ran the precum down the side of his shaft, giving him even softer lubrication. She cupped his massive, sweaty balls in one hand, even lowering her face to kiss them at one point, though she had to stop quickly as Carter began to try to fuck her face.

"Nice try," she said, using two hands to stroke him.

When Carter came, it was truly like a volcanic eruption. He gave Trish no warning, so that the first shot hit her right in her glasses and dripped onto her open mouth. Semen coated the inside of her cheeks, dripping onto her blouse. The next few shots, she was able to catch in a ziploc bag, except the bag was too small and his load continued to pour out the side of the bags, dripping on to the floor.

"Excuse me," she shouted at me, "Help!"

So I was made to help capture the semen spewing from violent Carter Smith's cock, scooping it with my bare hands into more and more bags for Trish.

"Now then," Trish said, wiping cum off her face, "I can simply compare these to the sample left by Mrs. Lokkens's saliva that she left on the juice glass she drank from yesterday... And we'll know the results soon."

"Hey, you sure you don't want to let me hit it?" Carter asked.

"Maybe next time," Trish said with a cum covered wink.

--

Over the next week, Trish appeared a few times to say that the tests needed more time. I was going crazy waiting to see if paternity was possibly mine. Also, I was constantly imagining Samantha on her dates with Maestro, the way her big tits must jiggle as she masturbated and the way she must eye his big girthy cock as he stroked off in front of her. Quickly, all the volume of cum that Trish had drained from my balls returned, achingly, making me desperate.

Besides that, each day, good news came from the warden to Carter. Another hurdle for his release had been cleared. More and more, it seemed likely that Carter was going to be a free man, living out in the world with my wife while I was trapped in here.

Before Trish could arrive with the results, Samantha showed up. This time, as I wanted, we met in the conjugal trailer.

Immediately, I pleaded with Samantha to remove her slutty trashy dress and give me relief. She sighed, stripping out of her clothes in a way that felt like the most erotic thing I had ever witnessed, despite her casual dispassion.

Her breasts were as perky as a teenager's, her belly flat and tight, and I wanted to kiss every inch of her tan youthful flesh.

"I have some more news," she said, as I approached her breasts to feel. She slapped my hand away.

"Not with the baby!" she shouted, and I once again felt in not position to disobey her. I was in total admiration of her naked form.

"So, the other day, Maestro was over and we were talking about the baby, and he asked me how I expected to support two kids with my salary. And it just totally slipped my mind that having this child meant that I needed to support two children. I was completely aghast."

I massaged her breasts with my mind, hypnotized, as she spoke.

"So our faggot son was of course sitting in the corner as we were talking: Maestro and I were both nude, having just finished pleasuring ourselves. So I turn to the faggot and I say to him this. Do you really think we need you around? Another mouth? A son like you, when I'm trying to start my new life, my new family?"

Her breasts jiggled with her breath. I couldn't stop watching.

"So you know, I get real tender with him. I tell him, Mommy wants you to do the right thing. Mommy wants to be happy. And you, little faggot, are not making Mommy happy. Mommy wants to have a black baby and a new black family and you, my dear, are a little white stain on that."

I froze, listening to Samantha's cruelty.

"So, I think the little faggot finally heard me for once. Because the next day, when we went to Maestro's place to visit, the little faggot had a little 'accident.'"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, Maestro's dog food making machine was running. And the faggot seemed to have tripped on something and he fell just head first into the grinder. The noise was immediate: Maestro and I watched as he kept getting pulled deeper and deeper into the gears and mechanisms. His little legs were twitching: it was honestly the most I loved him as a son his entire life. And so, by the end of what was probably an excruciating fifteen minutes for him, the little faggot was even distributed into fifteen nicely sized dog food bowls, ready for consumption by Maestro's pets. It honestly was the best outcome we could have hoped for. There just wasn't room for him. And, because I saved Maestro the trouble of getting more dog food, he gave me a crisp $20 for the trouble."

"So, that means--"

"Yes, sweetheart, both the sons I had with you have been taken out of the picture. I'd say it's a shame, but it's really for the best. I have Carter's baby on the way, and I can just tell this is going to be a much less disappointing child.

"I mean, imagine if they had had to grow up with an obviously superior little brother. That just would have so awkward, no? Knowing that this literal child is genetically superior in every single way, that nothing they could ever do in their lives would make them as manly, as powerful, as attractive as this little brother of theirs... I mean, if I were them, I too would have just gotten it all over with."

Samantha's words were harsh, but after all that we had gone through, I had just completely lost my sense of morality.

"Honey," I said, finding myself begging at her feet, worshiping her glowing naked body, "There's something I want to tell you."

She raised an eyebrow. "Go on."

I shared with her everything I had done with Trish: the prostate milking, Carter's massive orgasm, and the idea that we were going to get actual definitive answers about the paternity.

"Drew," she said, "I told you... it's not yours. It's Carter's. Why are you doing this?"

"I just want to be sure," I said.

Samantha crossed her arms, obscuring my view of her pink round nipples.

"I think," she said with anger, "That you're just trying to cheat the system."

"Huh?"

"You're trying to steal Carter's compassionate release. You think that you can bend the rules and get yourself out of prison, even though you're not eligible for the same program."

"It's not that," I said, though I did dream of release, "I just want to know--"

"That's disgusting, Drew," Samantha said, refusing to look at me, "You know how long Carter has been in here? Literal decades. He's gone decades without feeling the sweet embrace of true freedom. He doesn't have the ability to have a wife or child, unlike you, who did. You think that just because you can't get laid in here, you deserve freedom more than him?"

"No," I said, "It's just--"

"Just what?"

I didn't know what to say. Sheepishly, I said nothing.

Naked Samantha had one hand on her hip.

"Aren't you going to jerk off?" she asked.

I explained to her that my hands were stained with a painful chemical.

"Oh that's too bad," she said, reaching down to the floor to pick up and re-assemble her dress, "I bet that would have been fun for you."

Still, when she leaned in and kissed me on the cheek, fully clothed, somehow it felt better than cumming.

--

The big day finally came. No, not Trish's results: apparently, there was a sperm backup at the laboratory. No, instead, the state officials had finally authorized Carter's compassionate release. The guards were stripping him of his jumpsuit, restoring him to his pinstriped suit. Carter was going to be a free man.

I watched from the prison yard as Samantha showed up to drive him: she was wearing another one of those skimpy fast fashion dresses that showed half of her boobs from the underside. Dressed like that, there was an 100% chance that Carter would try to molest her. But when she saw me, she waved and blew me a kiss, which I felt counted for everything. She was still on my side.

Still, when Carter exited those gates and placed his hand on her bottom as they walked to the car together, I did feel the pit of despair in my stomach.

Luckily, the spray that Trish had put on my hands had expired, and I was able to masturbate freely again. Compulsively, whenever I reached for my dick, I couldn't see anything except the visions of the past and future of Carter shoving his cock into my wife. It seemed like, no matter how hard I concentrated, there was nothing to see except his massive cock impregnating her with his seed.