Mary's Movie Night Ch. 06: Dances with Wolves

I blame Mary McDonnell.

You've never heard of her? She was the love interest in Kevin Costner's Dances with Wolves, the sprawling epic Western. She played "Stands with a Fist", which is super-appropriate after this week. All of the women in my life took turns shaking their fist at me this week.

For example, Friday afternoon Mary came down to our townhouse and rang my doorbell. Since watching Apocalypse Now a little over a week ago, which ended with me thoroughly and effectively seeding her, she had been all lovey-dovey. But today I had forgotten to respond to her. You might think of this as a "welfare check" on her part, except that this visit seemed to be putting a check on my welfare.

"You can't just fuck me and leave," she said, barging into our house. "I'm probably preggers with our love child. You need to take care of me... daddy. And you need to starting thinking about what happens next... daddy." Then she softens slightly, "Besides, I need you daddy."

She runs her beefy fingers down my check, standing close. She's dressed in purple scrubs that make her look like a giant prune, all creases and blobs. Her hair is pulled tightly back and I can see her flabby ears. Her lantern jaw trembles and her little goblin mouth seems to be trying to sob. The whole encounter should be horrifying, but once again I feel that glimmer of desire (could this be tenderness?) welling up.

I take her in my arms and hold her. It's like trying to put your arms around a redwood tree, but she sighs into it. Her own arms, like a gorilla's, have no problem smashing my body against her. What the heck is this? She looks appalling, but I feel this attraction. I reach my lips down to hers and we worm our way into the living room. No sense hiding our passion play from the outside world: we should perform it right here and horrify any passers-by who look in my windows.

But the feeling is amazing. The few steps down the hall and I'm transformed from abject horror into her greedy stallion. Emboldened, I push my hand between her legs and feel the fetid swamp of it squish with her arousal. She grips my manhood, which is aching to get inside her. I yank her pants down. She yanks mine open. I push her top up to find her compression bra, the underarm areas damp with sweat. I push that up over her limp boobs. We push our mouths together so my tongue can enter that miniscule orifice with its tiny sharp teeth.

She plants her mons against my straining boner and begins to work herself against it. I can feel her slick greasy goo slobbering out, coating my pulsing rod. I want to get inside her, but she denies me the opening. She's teasing me, now, feeling my need for her. I force the issue and, BAM!, I'm inside her. Our insides move perfectly, fit perfectly. We move in synchrony for what seems like long minutes. All the while, her voice builds in my ear. "Breed me, daddy. Breed me. I know you love me, daddy. Give it all to me." Her body tenses and she cums in my arms. I can feel her squirting all over me.

So I fill her. And I hold her, the two of us together, me softening slowly inside.

We are brought out of this reverie by the garage door opening. Hastily we spring up and put our clothes in order. There isn't enough time for Mary to run out, let alone for me to wipe up the damp spot on the sofa. I look at her, appalled: she's disheveled in the way that says "just been fucked". There's a hint of dark stain around the crotch of her scrub pants. She looks delighted that we might be about to get caught.

Susan comes in from the garage. "Hi hon, hi Mary. You guys picking a movie for this week?" She seems oblivious. She carries her purse and a package into the kitchen. "I'll be right back," she says, and heads for the guest bathroom. I spring into action, mopping up the mess on the couch. Mary's enormous bulk is quivering in amusement.

"You pick the movie, lover," she whispers, rubbing her belly. She moves for the door.

I'm just shutting the door when Susan emerges. She has her little specimen jar again. "It's not the right time in my cycle yet, but I need you to give me a sample for the lab. Just a sperm count and motility check. It would be nice to know if you even can father a child," she says. "Oh," I think, "I don't think we need to worry on that score." Still, our conversation is back to square one. She doesn't actually shake her fist at me, but it's clear that, although we aren't intimate anymore, she still wants to get babies out of me. "Monday will be fine," she concludes.

Saturday, I go out shopping with Susan. There's a shop next to the grocery store that sells party stuff and gewgaws of various kinds. I poke around while Susan runs through her list. She claims I throw off her process if I join her. The shop has some Valentine's Day stuff on closeout and, like kismet, there are a couple of heart-shaped locks with keys. In mind of Cindy's gift to me--the black leather collar--I buy the sturdiest looking one. It's less a toy than it is a serious padlock.

I take it with me to Cindy's that night. Before I can show it to her, she says "Look, junior, we have a guest tonight." It's our neighbor, Peter, whose wife Belinda started this mess for me by getting knocked up. Only--it's not how I'm used to seeing Peter. He's standing, as if at attention, and he's wearing, well, hardly anything. He's in a purple Speedo shaped thing, except it appears to be made of leather and his enormous wang is hanging out of the front of it. The only other thing he's wearing is a ball gag. So, it isn't as if he can greet me.

"Uh, Cindy, what..."

"Peter has submitted himself to me. Which means that, in addition to wearing a cuckold's horns when you preg his wife, he'll be your property... once you get around to collaring me. You do remember the collar, don't you?" Owning Peter? This is a level of kink beyond my reckoning.

"He'll be what, exactly?" I manage.

"Yours to command," she says with assurance. "Oh, I know you don't play for that team, but I'm sure you'll think of some useful tasks for him to do for you. But forget that for now. You looked like you had something to tell me." I show her the lock.

"Did you bring the collar?" I had. "You've done well. You were very close to being kicked out of our deal. But once you lock that in place, well... then we can really get started on all the things we've promised each other. Bring it here and lock my soul to yours."

I feel a little sheepish. My relationship with Cindy is growing progressively weirder. A little fun and games in the bedroom is great, but "owning" Peter and "locking my soul" to her sounds... extreme. She pulls her long hair together with one hand and holds it out of the way as she straightens her back and neck just so. I bring the braided collar up and around her throat. The silver clasp joins easily, right in front. The collar is just the right size, not too snug, but without any droop. Her eyes peer into mine and seem to glimmer as I bring out the lock. The tiny key opens the hasp.

"Are you watching, Peter?" she asks. "You're watching a real man take what's his. He's marking his territory." I feel like the least likely man ever to be described that way, but I don't comment. It's not like I'm actually the one in control here.

I put the lock in place and then click it closed. She reaches up with her lips and we kiss. It's a good kiss, if a little dry. "Now get over here and fuck me, sir. Like you fuck little Petey's wife. Like you'll fuck the women I bring you in our bed. Dirty, raw, unprotected."

"Sir?" I think, before I lay her down and close her up at both ends for a while.

Sunday Mary texts me "Want you, daddy." I send her a heart emoji.

Monday Mary texts me three eggplant emoji. I send her squirting water emoji.

Susan nags me to fill her cup on her way out the door to work. I make non-committal noises. I finally get down to work, when the doorbell rings. Uh oh. Mary?

It's Belinda. I haven't seen her in a little while, but she's starting to get the rosy glow pregnant women sometimes have. Her hair seems more lustrous, and her cheeks seem a bit flushed. She has on yoga pants and a jogger shirt, perhaps to show off the first burgeoning of a baby belly.

You know, the baby I put there.

The flushed cheeks might also be because she's come to shake her fist at me. "Peter's a complete shit," she announces, "He won't touch me. And my baby daddy, well, he never calls me anymore. Don't you want me? Don't you need me?"

I bring her in and offer tea. "Herbal, please," she says, and sits precisely where Mary and I made a wet spot on Friday. And then, instead of the tears I feared were on their way, she unloads. Peter has some "weird thing" going on with Cindy (you have no idea!) but won't tell her what it is. He's lost all interest in her. And with hormones raging, she has important needs! Also, a craving for peanut butter. And: "Look, these titties are getting huge!" she says, cupping them suggestively. They are not exactly huge, but there is more heft to them, I think.

Then she returns to verbally shaking her fist at me. I calm her with some kisses and, for the second time this week, I make love to the wrong woman on the couch. If anything, pregnancy has made her tighter. Her pubic bone scrapes me with every thrust. Her breasts are a bit more rounded and the nipples are a shade darker. When she goes, I promise to see her more often. I don't ask where she thinks this might be going. Surreptitiously having our baby (ostensibly in the context of her marriage to Peter) seems to be slipping towards openly proclaiming that she's having mine (with who knows what cost?)

I decide to go with Dances with Wolves for movie night. Nothing like a nice four-hour epic when the room is jammed with sexual tension and pregnancy hormones. For a change, everyone shows up so that we can really bask in the ominous trap that is my life.

Mary is in a happy mood and seems oblivious to Belinda's black looks and Susan's confused ones when she flirts with me. Cindy is reserved and taking it all in. My collar is hanging there around her throat, the heart shaped lock bigger than I remember it.

Levon and Lakeisha end up next to me and we talk about last week's gamefest.

"You all missed out. It was epic... what I remember of it," Levon declares. "The multiplayer at the end? We have got to do more of that," he says, looking me squarely in the eye so I know exactly what he means--and that he's serious. He liked it. I glance at Lakeisha and she's nodding. From the corner of my eye I can see Cindy thinking "Geeks" and what she doesn't know won't hurt her.

The movie is long, but it's better than I remember. Cindy departs first, with Peter awkwardly behind her. Belinda is still chatting with the girls, but she looks up and sees him go. She and Susan go out together, then Levon and Lakeisha, while I move around like I'm going to.

In the end, I'm alone with Mary. She giggles, her horrifying bulk vibrating with mirth. She reaches up and releases her hair. It hasn't grown that much, but she reminds me of her promise not to cut it some weeks ago.

"I know you probably need to go tonight. I bought a test," she says.

Oh.

"It's a couple of days too early to take it. I might just be late."

Oh.

"Can you come Saturday and help me take it?"

"I'll be here."

Down the street I can see Susan and Belle chatting outside Belle's place. They don't seem to see me, so I turn and go to Cindy's place. I am unprepared for what I find.

The front door is unlocked. Entering, I hear Cindy firmly demanding "Harder! Deeper! That's it." Cindy is kneeling on the floor with her body flat on her couch. Her jeans are pulled down around her knees, but she's otherwise still fully clothed. Peter is behind her, completely naked. His huge fat penis is buried to the hilt in Cindy's brown hole and, with her insistent urging, he's pounding her hard and fast. Cindy quirks a grin at me as she absorbs this assault. Peter is absorbed in his task, although I can tell he's aware of me. After a moment, he grunts and slathers her insides with his impotent cream.

Cindy asks me, "What do you think, sir? Should I make him clean is mess with his face? He loves his duties, you know. I can't wait to see what you make him do, sir." A little devil springs up on one of my shoulders.

"He needs to clean up his mess. But then, shouldn't you help him clean his tool? It's important to maintain your tools properly." For a moment I think this is going to be a deadly, but she laughs!

"Oh, sir! You know me well, sir." She rolls over on the floor and barks "Give me your tool to clean, boy. And get your face in my ass and clean up your mess." I watch this disgusting parody of a 69, complete with his second climax down her throat.

I send Peter to wash his face and get his show on the road. I sit with Cindy and she says, "That was well done. I think it's time we consummate our connection in a more permanent way. I'll make arrangements for next week. In the meantime, I have a hole that hasn't been used, sir." I use it thoroughly before she goes off to sleep.

I can't sleep yet, thinking of all that is transpiring. I ponder my options. I'm going to have to come clean to everyone eventually. I've known that. But instead of running away, now it seems like I'm dancing with the wolves of fate. And they're hungry.