Mary's Movie Night Ch. 07: Thin Red Line

I blame Adrien Brody.

Friday, for a change, I spend the night at home and fall asleep next to my wife. As usual, Fort Susan is on lockdown, but it's nice to have what passes for a normal evening.

Saturday begins while it's still dark outside. I'm having a wonderful dream, all warm and snuggly, of Susan and I making love. "There's my big boy... give me all your loving..." she whispers. I'm throbbing and there's a slick wet sound. My climax is starting to build up... and that wakes me fully. Susan is rolled over to face me in bed, fully clothed. The specimen jar is there between us, the lid off next to it. Her hand, which I dimly perceive is wrapped in a blue latex surgical glove, is tugging on my dick. She's trying to coax my cum into the cup? Should I let her do this? I sit up with a start. With a look of "Drat, foiled again", she scoops up the jar and lid and heads to the bathroom to clean herself up.

When I wake again, Saturday has morphed into a spectacular day, all shiny and warm. The kind of day that almost demands you go out and do things. My phone chimes to tell me exactly what that is, too: I need to help Mary take a pregnancy test. I tell Susan that Mary needs help shifting some furniture and drag myself down to her place. If I had to pick a movie right then, it would have been Dead Man Walking. I am not betting on a negative test.

I pass Peter and Belle's place; they've gone for the weekend to see her mother, no doubt seeking to thrill her with the promise of grandchildren. Levon and Lakeisha's place is still dark. I reach Mary's house.

I didn't have to knock on her door: she's waiting to conduct me inside, wearing only a shapeless muumuu-like dress that barely hides her flabby knees. Her hair is down, looking a bit unkempt this morning, but her spirits are up. Her body jiggles and shakes all over as she giggles "Ooh... ooh... I can't wait. Get in here."

I follow behind her, staring at her feet as she ascends the stairs. Her toenails are thick and her feet are heavily calloused. Her ankles are thick and the skin is unwholesomely pale. We go through to the bedroom and she heads into the adjoining bathroom.

The officer presiding reads my execution warrant: "I've read the instructions carefully. The best time to test is with the first urination in the morning. And let me tell you, I really need to go. I'm holding it for you, baby, and you're keeping me waiting." She pulls the muumuu over her head, and it whirls to the ground like a vast circus tent. Buck naked, she straddles her bloated thighs over the white porcelain of the toilet. With one hand, she produces the test and holds it out to me.

"I want you to hold it, daddy." I squat on the balls of my feet before her, between her widely parted thighs, as she jiggles her thick ass on her throne. I maneuver the test down in front of her furry mound. Her piss shoots out in a rush, accompanied by the stench of hot urine. I get the uncovered end of the test into the torrent. She grins with delight at my discomfort (and probably her own relief). I can feel the pee splattering from the bowl onto my hand. I draw out the test as she finishes going and look at it. I can see the white liner material of the test soaking up the liquid, the discoloration from the wetness creeps slowly upwards into the test area.

Some tests are blue lines or plus symbols. Some are digital. This one is red. Immediately there is one red line--the control that shows that the test is working. For a moment there is just one line. Just one. Just one. C'mon, just one thin red line. Then, bashfully, a faint pinkish line starts to appear next to it.

"What does it say, daddy?"

"It says you need to lay off the white wine, eat more leafy greens, and get plenty of bed rest." I turn the test so she can see it. My stomach falls to the floor while her smile soars. Mary shrieks, reaches out her arms, and crushes my head against belly, one that will soon sag with the weight of our child. She's gabbling happily, but not a single word registers for a minute.

"You want this, don't you daddy? I know you must. How long until we can be together always, daddy?" These words finally snap me out of my shock.

"Can it be our little secret for now? We should wait for the tests and stuff before we tell people," I suggest. I'm still kneeling in front of her, and, looking up into her eyes, her naked bulk looming before me.

"I know we should be patient, but I want to tell people soon. Our baby is going to need a daddy," she says, affecting a little girl voice. She reaches her mouth down, her lips groping for a reassuring kiss. They move hungrily, her wet tongue probing for mine.

"And mommy had needs that have to get met," she adds, with a drill sergeant's steely cadence. I come up out of the crouch and return her kiss.

Her hands steer me backwards, searching for her bed. I feel the mattress snug up behind my knees, the sheets and comforter already on the floor around my ankles. She pushes me back with her body while her hands claw at my pants. Her foot holds them down as she sits me down, so that I can pull my feet free.

I pull myself deeper into the bed, making room for her. Her onslaught has me embarrassingly hard. The bed sags and buckles under her as she knees her way onto the mattress. First one mighty thigh to my left, then, straddling me, rolling back as her other thigh lifts her from the floor. Her huge weight presses me down as the box spring groans from the pressure. I kiss her again, letting one hand feel for her sex. Her inner lips are thick and meaty, dangling open between her fat out labia. My finger traces the gap between them. Those lips are hot and I feel the slickness of her desire between them. I can feel her hole waiting in there, wanting to be filled.

She contorts to bring those lips close to my body, looking for a much bigger finger to plug the gap. Up and back, she smears her juices on my lower body. Her mound is covered in wetness, her womb sopping with arousal. She reaches down with one hand to adjust my angle. With a slurp her greedy womb sucks me in. I grab her sloppy breasts and hang on as she whips her pelvis into a frenzy. The bedsprings throb rhythmically, in time with the base drum of the bed striking the wall and the high-hat cymbal squish-squish-squishing from her gushing vagina. I put my hands on her hips, poking my drumstick harder on her instrument. Her body shakes with every thrust, her voice lifting in wordless song. I join in a duet. I let that symphony overwhelm me, let her milk me, let my balls tighten until I force myself up hard, let her take the short herky-jerky twitches of cream jetting into her.

After that, we're listening to the silence left behind, her breath panting in my ear by where she collapsed onto the bed. We rest that way for a long while.

The movie this week is The Thin Red Line, Terrance Malik's flick about Guadalcanal in World War II. I've always liked him as a director for his intense visuals, but this one I haven't seen. I think Levon picked it because it is kind of a war movie and would fit with our gaming choices thematically.

I arrive first and Mary gives me a lascivious grin. "Daddy!" she chirps, pinching my butt. I feel the strange out-of-body-experience I've started to get around her. My eyes are mapping out exits and escape routes, while my boner just want to be embedded inside her. She's wearing a fuzzy pink sleeveless top that exposes her chunky arms. Her armpits are unshaved and she's showing significant "side boob" along with her gray compression bra.

Levon saves us from being caught in an embarrassing mating clinch by tapping on the door. He is alone tonight because Lakeisha is feeling under the weather. There's a conspiratorial glint in his eye and he mutters under his breath to me that "it might be something she picked up while gaming."

Mary fires up the film and we sit, all three, on the couch. The jungle in the film is a character unto itself, with the characters walking through stands of giant bamboo or shots of torrential rain or creepy wildlife unaware of the nearby life-or-death struggle. There's action, but also a lot of existential rumination about the meaning of life.

When the credits start rolling, Levon gets up to go. This one was clearly a test of his patience. "You around this week?" he asks me. I allow as that I will be. "You should come over. We... have something for you. I'm working from home, so just stop by."

That left me alone with Mary. I'm thinking of a line in the movie, "Love. Where does it come from? Who lit this flame in us?" I look at her and feel my teeth grating, recognizing with horror that I have not just been naked in bed, copulating with her, but that even now a tiny knot of life has taken root inside her, life I helped put there. And I'm excited, I feel an irresistible attraction. It's clearly, given my situation, a terrible life choice.

I demonstrate this realization by pushing her down on the couch and mounting her a multiple times before taking her upstairs and tucking her into bed.

Friday, I'm contemplating lunch, when the doorbell rings. Now what?

It's Ray, Susan's therapist. "She's not home right now."

"I know. I'm here to see you. I thought we might talk about your wife's reproductive needs and your role in fulfilling them."

"Is that really appropriate? I mean, it's kind of private. We need to work out things in our relationship. I would think it wouldn't be that ethical to suggest conceiving a child when the situation has...challenges."

"Perhaps not, but it might help if a neutral party facilitated your conversation. I might be your best friend, and you don't even know it." He produces the specimen jar again. "Here. If you fill this, I think you'll find that we can work together to get past the crisis."

"I'll think about it. I really will." I close the door on him.

Eventually I decide to take a shower and clean up. I open a new pack of razors and, as I throw the package away, notice something odd. The trash seems somehow artfully arranged, as if to hide a familiar shape underneath. There's a sanitary napkin with a couple of red splotches and some discarded floss and some paper stuff, but under that is a familiar white shape.

It's a positive pregnancy test, this one featuring a blue plus sign, plus all of the various tamper proof seals, etc. This one was taken here.. Hmm... wheels start turning in my head. I have an idea, but it's a terrible one.

I walk down to Levon's to chat about it.

"Hey, man, come on in. Lakeisha's at work, but you and I can talk about things. You can catch up with her later," he says.

"Sure. I might want something from you later. But you mentioned you guys had something for me?"

"Not... exactly. You remember a couple of weeks ago? The video game night?"

"Totally. I haven't had that much tequila in years!"

"Yeah, well, you'll also recall that I listened to your raid on her fire base at the end?"

"Um... yeah." Lakeisha and I had done a different kind of "call of duty" while Levon listened in from upstairs. A "call of duty" that involved millions of little soldiers playing capture the flag in her uterus.

"She's knocked up, man." Levon is taking this exceedingly well. We don't exactly look alike, since he's Black and I'm a skinny white guy. "We're over the moon. It's been a huge fantasy of ours and we wanted another... maybe not quite this soon, but definitely another. If she hadn't caught, we were worried you might not want to keep at it, actually."

I live in an insane neighborhood. I'm going to have to get the water checked. But then... I pull out the specimen jar. "So, uh, Levon, maybe you could return the favor." I explain about the pregnancy test and my situation. He does me a solid.

Pretty soon I call Ray to come get the jar.

Saturday night, as has become usual, I head for Cindy's in the evening, wondering what's in store. The encounters here have become increasingly bizarre. There's a second, unfamiliar car in her driveway, a worn blue Nissan Sentra. The body panels are all dinged and one of the doors is primer gray. There's a child's car seat in the back.

Cindy is waiting for me and pulls the door as I walk up. "Well... look what the cat dragged in." She gives me a dry peck on the lips. "Come meet our new friend."

Amanda is a pert young lady. More of a girl, really. She's maybe twenty, and maybe a foot shorter than I am. Cindy and I are both over six feet, so she's probably average in height, but both of us tower over her. Her hair is somewhere between strawberry and ginger red and she has it shaved close on one side, but long on the other. She's thick set, but not fat, and is wearing what I can only describe as an "overalls skirt", with a bib front held up by those little metal button clip-like things. Under that is a white turtleneck. All she needs is a straw hat to complete the Farm Lass cosplay outfit. She has big boobs and an open smile.

"Mama! Mama!" echoes from the living room, where a portable crib has been installed. The inmate is perhaps eighteen months old and is reaching hungrily for her.

"Amanda," Cindy says, "has agreed to be our missing link. She'll bear our, which is to say, your, children in return for which she'll enjoy support from my late husband's estate. As you can see, she's a proven breeder." Amanda has spilled out of her top and is feeding the little boy. He's sucking greedily at the globular organ. "It'll be very cozy here for a while, but soon we can plan our new estate together. You can be done with this whole 'Susan' episode." Cindy maps out a bizarre plan that includes Peter and Belinda and their future children.

I'm wondering how Cindy's current dumpy smallish townhome squares with this. I feel like I've fallen in with a cult planning to populate the Earth with tiny me-shaped humans.

"Don't worry! It's all in the bag," she says to fend off my disbelief. I think of a character in the movie saying "It's never necessary to tell me that you think I'm right. We'll just... assume it."

"Now I think we need a starter session!", Cindy finishes. Amanda smiles like this is all very normal. When we reach the bedroom, Cindy pulls off her knit top and then unfastens her bra as if disrobing before strangers is nothing unusual. As she's skinning her jeans off her legs, she urging me to "Go ahead, junior, why don't you help her out of her clothes. I'm sure that will get both of your juices flowing."

"I don't bite," Amanda says, putting her hands near my beltline. I think she's sizing me up. "It took Ms. McGill a while to convince me about this situation. Now that I see you, well, it's very easy for me to want your children." Her hand is looking for the implement that would help with that.

My hands are fumbling with those deceptively simple looking bib straps. I've got the first one loose. She laughs when I push the other strap off her shoulder. Cindy steps up behind her and pulls the skirt down. She pulls my shirt over my head and starts unfastening my belt, while I admire the view. The white shirt is taut and the nursing bra underneath gives her a 1950's pair of missile nose cones.

I'm falling behind in the disrobing department, so I pull the top off and turn to her lower body. She's wearing leggings and some form of panties that I never see. I push both down to her knees and she pauses to draw them all off.

Cindy sticks her tongue in my ear and whispers, "Go get her, tiger. Kiss her and show her you appreciate her giving herself to us." Then she swings around behind Amanda and is whispering something in her ear, a something that make her grin. I have one hand on a bra-clad breast and feel the nipple hardening. She leans towards me and she teases me with her lips. She darts in and, just as we touch, pulls back with a sharp intake of breath. Twice more we dance this pas de deux. Then our lips finally meet.

She gives no tongue at first, before risking tiny darts of it. It's enchanting. I spend a moment to savor it. Meanwhile, the tableau is developing.

Cindy is the wrong way around on the bed, with her feet on the head end. Amanda turns away from me, leading me by the hand. She crawls up on the bed and I see what she's about. She goes on all fours over Cindy's prostrate form and moves her mouth to Cindy's ancient pussy. As she does this, she waggles her behind at me.

"Put it in her," Cindy says. She brings her hands around to guide me. I feel her breath on my balls as she sweeps the tip up and back against Amanda's opening. She's only a little aroused, but Cindy solves that with a lick. Then I'm tight up against her. I fit nicely, squarely inside her.

"Oh yes!" Amanda moans, "That cock was built to breed me. Make me your baby mama. Make us a family."

There's only a thin red line between the sane and the mad, and Cindy seems to have landed us on the far side of that line.