My Father's Woman Ch. 08 - Orange

I know you can't please everyone. But let's see if I can piss everyone off! I've decided release three parallel "next chapters" simultaneously... three alternative futures for our heroine and heroes. Hopefully they'll all pop up on Literotica at the same time. I've labeled them Blue, Orange, and Purple -- no significance other than being the opposites of Red, Yellow and Green on the color wheel, so they aren't safe words.

Some of you may well read all three of them. Just remember... whichever one you read first, that's what really happened! [Shocked face emoji!] The other two are just Ryan's future daydreams and nightmares of relief or regret...

So, choose wisely. Because Ryan can't.

John thought about putting on a pair of boxers, but then decided to assume otherwise, and got into bed naked and pulled the sheet up. He listened to the shower running in the adjoining bathroom, picturing the water and soap suds running down the delicious nude body of his daughter-in-law, who would be joining him in bed momentarily. He had showered earlier, giving his son and his wife a few minutes alone, still not sure how this day was going to end. He was pleased with the outcome.

He knew this crazy little dalliance was coming to an end, for the time being, if not forever. They had pretty much decided that on Labor Day, after their last intense weekend together, even before he knew about his transfer to Phoenix. And before she had informed him that she and Ryan were going to try to start a family.

He wondered when they were going to start trying; when she was going to stop using birth control. Or if she already had. If that was the case, he should really get up out of bed and rummage around in his dresser drawer for the box of condoms that he had never opened. But then the shower stopped running.

Certainly, the idea that Michelle might get pregnant from one of their forbidden encounters had occurred to him before. It was the whole point of sex, wasn't it? He knew that she was on birth control, but all forms of birth control had failure rates. It was something he always put out of his mind while they were together, while he was inside her.

But he had allowed himself to dwell on the possibility in the times in between. It would be so wrong. So irreversibly wrong.

Well, perhaps not irreversibly. She could always terminate an unwanted pregnancy, and it might even be the smart thing to do, even though he had never contemplated being complicit in such an act.

So in his idle daydreams and nightmares, he had allowed himself to envision what the alternatives would be. Would she carry the baby to term, let Ryan believe, or assume, that the child was his own? Certainly, inevitably, there would have to be doubt. Especially if she was telling him the truth, that she had been making Ryan wear condoms during their affair.

Or if Ryan was that deeply into this whole strange "cuckold" mindset, would his son just go on and raise the child as his own, in spite of knowing that it was in fact not only not his biological offspring, but his half-brother or half-sister?

Would he, John, "do the honorable thing," take Michelle away, figuratively and literally, destroy his son's marriage and start a new family with this beautiful woman, his son's ex-wife? Surely that would be the most heinous outcome imaginable. It would destroy his relationship with his son, with his other son, with every other person who knew him.

Although the notion of starting over, finding a new job (at his age?) in a new town, with this incredible and sexy younger woman on his arm, had a certain appeal. But that was an even crazier fantasy. Did he really want to be working until he was 70, raising a child through his sixties and seventies, taking that child off to college when he was eighty? No, that was insane.

Although, what he had already been doing over the past months was plenty insane, and wrong, in itself.

And then she came out of the bathroom, gloriously naked, except for the fine chain around her luscious hips. She had bathed but not washed her hair, so it fell alluringly around her lovely face, to the tops of her stately shoulders. Below that, her breasts stood round and proud, her nipples already stiffening in the centers of her coral-pink areola. And then she was climbing onto the bed, pulling back the sheet, swinging one leg over him. And he stopped thinking.

She was already wet, apparently as aroused by the situation as he was. Her husband was just on the other side of the door. Having acquiesced, submitted to what was about to happen in his father's bedroom.

Her hand was like velvet as it encircled his erection, holding it upright, teasing him with the soft curls of her pubic hair until she had situated his knob between the moist folds of her labia. Then she lowered herself onto him, scarcely muffling her familiar moan as he pushed his way up inside her.

He placed his hands on her hips and guided her as she moved up and down on him, reacquainting him with the silken grip of her vagina. Then she fell forward onto his chest and kissed him.

"Is this safe?" he had to ask.

"Probably," she murmured.

Probably?, he thought. What did that mean? He had no idea where she was in her cycle, but surely she wasn't allowing him to take her bare if she was anywhere near ovulating.

He should stop, he thought; pull out. But he didn't. Instead, he rolled her over, to get her underneath him, where he always preferred her. He went back to thrusting into her, slowly, intently. Her legs came up around him, creating a cradle for his rocking pelvis, the way he loved. The way they belonged.

"Probably," he found himself repeating, out loud, as if spellbound, mesmerized by the suggestion of his daughter-in-law's fertility, and helpless to stop himself from pumping into her.

"Uh huh," Michelle assured him, breathlessly. "It's okay."

It's OKAY?

"I think... " she whispered, "There's a part of him... that wants you to be the one who gets me pregnant."

Well. That was an angle that hadn't occurred to him. He continued to move in and out, in and out, feeling the slippery sleeve of her vagina grasping him, milking him. Urging him to keep going.

"That makes two of us," he heard himself mumble out loud, shocked immediately that he had actually uttered the words. But Michelle's response was only to moan, and then emit what sounded like a little shriek of pleasure.

Or did she say, "Three"? Surely he imagined that. But he was in no condition to be clear about anything. His brain was turning off, all of it except the pleasure center, and then he was cumming, pulsing over and over again, pumping his semen deeply into his fertile daughter-in-law.

He did the same thing the next morning. She started out by climbing on top of him, sitting upright, gyrating on top of him so he could admire her, gather up her soft breasts in his hands, or seize her by the hips and manipulate her as he stirred her insides with his cock.

If this was their last time together, he thought, he should make it last, enjoy every position, every view. But something else was echoing in his head. "There's a part of Ryan," she had said last night, "That wants *you* to be the one who gets me pregnant." And there was definitely a part of him that wanted that, too.

So he rolled her over, upside down on the bed, so their heads and their voices were only five feet, not ten feet, from the door. He surrendered himself to his instincts, reaching down to draw her legs up around him, hooking his elbows behind her knees, tipping her upwards so that he was driving straight down into her. Holding her that way, for long minutes after he came, so none of his semen would leak out of her.

Just in case.

***

Sunday morning was strange. Even within the strange standards of my bizarro world.

I knew they had been intimate. Oh, who was I kidding, I knew they had fucked. I had heard them, last night and again this morning; my wife's erotic little muffled moans, the relentless squeaking of the bedsprings and thumping of the headboard against the wall.

Maybe they had used condoms. Maybe he had pulled out. Or... maybe Michelle had let his dad slake his lust by offering him anal sex. Huh, I thought. That was one card that Michelle had left unplayed in this dizzying game. Not like her to miss a trick like that. But, while at one time contemplating my father's fat cock stretching open my wife's tiny anal orifice would have sent me spiraling, on this morning nothing could be as erotic as the thought of him basting my wife's cervix with spurt after spurt of his sperm-laden cum.

My dad was unusually quiet. He's not exactly a loquacious raconteur, but his normal approach to conversation is to keep the ball rolling with simple, even trite little jokes and comments. This morning he seemed melancholy, naturally, but also distracted. We made some small talk about nothing. He gave short half-hearted responses to questions about Phoenix.

My plans to have a baby with Michelle didn't come up.

On the drive home, I wondered what they had talked about last night, and again this morning, before and after the lusty interactions that I *could* hear.

I did gingerly broach the subject once.

"Ryan," she responded, gently. Only slightly teasing. "You're way too obsessed with your father's sex life.

"And anyway. That's between me and my lover."

I accepted that. There are things more intimate than just fucking, I knew. And it thrilled me that she had given him that intimacy, too.

***

We had sex that night. Unprotected. Vigorous. I was halfway surprised at my own performance. I didn't even ejaculate prematurely. Probably because she was merely holding me, mewing and purring, instead of verbally taunting me with lurid fantasies, the way she so often did.

I thought maybe it was another way for her to tell me that the game was over, that this weekend had been the grand finale, and it was time for me to get real. Be a man, and be a daddy.

It wasn't until afterwards, when my body was temporarily drained of testosterone and adrenaline, that she teased me again.

"I don't think I was ovulating this weekend," she said, out of nowhere. "I was taking my temperature."

She was lying beside me, naked and slightly perspiring, glowing the way that she always did.

"At any rate, if I get back on my normal cycle right away, I won't be ovulating until next weekend.

"Unless."

Unless?

"Well, you know. Unless I popped one out early."

Oh, God. My heart raced. Of course I had been thinking about that for a month, but hearing her say it was shocking. Unless. Unless her ovaries had responded to the change in hormones by releasing an egg at the first opportunity.

An egg that had made its way into her womb yesterday, where my father's teeming, wriggling sperm had a twenty-four hour head start on mine.

"You know. I'm such an eager beaver." For once, I don't think she even realized her little double entendre.

"Hmmm," she commented. "You're hard again."

Damn, if I wasn't. Well, I thought, I might as well give it the old college try. Even if I was too late.

***

Wednesday night she came out of the bathroom in a pretty, sheer kimono. I could make out the lacy babydoll night gown beneath it, the shadow of her cleavage.

"You know what tomorrow is?" she said, coyly.

"Ummm," I replied. Yes, I was intensely aware of what her cycle should be. "Will you be ovulating?"

She held up the little thermometer with which she must have been taking her basal temperature. "All signs indicate it."

I smiled and scooted up against the headboard.

"But that's not all tomorrow is."

"What else?" I asked, grinning like a fool.

"It's October," she replied, with a grin of her own. A somewhat more devious one. She let the kimono fall open. The nightgown underneath was indeed alluring. It was just form-fitting enough to push her breasts together and upwards, a wicked presentation in scalloped lace. And between them hung a silver necklace with a key on it.

"Or, as some call it, Locktober."

"What!??" I exclaimed, flustered.

"You know what Locktober is. I know you've watched all those hot little videos about it."

"Well, yeah, but..."

I did find the idea of being locked up and denied for a whole desperate month to be hot. But right now? We were supposed to be trying to start a family this month!

"But what about... getting pregnant?"

"Well, priorities," she said. "I mean, yes, I want to have a baby. But I also want to keep my husband aroused."

Well, I was aroused all right. And as usual, my arousal was all mixed up with some much more turbulent emotions. Starting thirty one days in chastity right now would take us right through *two* of her fertile cycles.

Two of my three chances to be the father of her baby, before *my* father came back at Christmas.

Unless she flew to Phoenix for Thanksgiving.

Of course, my cock was hard, and she was smirking. There was no cage yet to cut off the blood flow to my penis. But my body was automatically cutting off the blood flow to the reasoning function in my brain.

I wanted to tell her I would buy her a ticket in the morning.

***

She was teasing me, of course. And of course, I had loved every moment of it, even while I broke into a sweat over the potential consequences. And of course, I hadn't used my safe word.

I wondered if she knew that if she had gone ahead and locked me up, I would have silently endured my torment for the whole month. I would have. I wouldn't have been able to resist it.

We had unprotected sex several times over the next two weeks. Every time I ejaculated into my wife, I couldn't help but thinking that it didn't matter, that it was too late, that she was already pregnant with my father's baby. And it gave me some of the most intense orgasms of my life.

I knew that if she missed her next period, if she turned out to be pregnant this month, I wouldn't know for sure who the father was. I wasn't even sure there was any way to find out for sure. Which caused me to be erect and fully ready to inseminate her myself, over and over again.

Mid-October came, and with it, my wife's "monthly visitor." She hugged me and assured me that everything was fine; she had never expected to become fertile again in her first month off the birth control pills. She didn't mention my father.

By late October, the fantasy of her carrying my father's baby was no longer a possibility, although it still haunted my dreams. But I was back to a comforting reality, the fact that I was married to the most beautiful, exciting, provocative woman I had ever met, and we were going to seal the deal with a child of our own.

We made love five or six times around the weekend of Halloween.

It didn't take. She had another period in mid-November.

We spent most of the Thanksgiving weekend in bed. I even missed the second half of the Michigan-Ohio State game.

"You'd better knock me up good, buster," she whispered at one point. "Your daddy's coming home next month." It was the first time she had teased me that way in weeks.

My subsequent orgasm was enormous. If that didn't do it, I thought, nothing would.

"Your daddy's coming home," though...

If she's not pregnant by Christmas, though, I also told myself, she will be by New Year's.

***

December 10th rolled around, and with it, my wife's next period. This time, she didn't say anything about, "It's okay." She just hugged me, there in the kitchen where she had given me the news.

We hadn't talked about safe words for months, and now, finally, it was time for me to use it. But I didn't. Somehow, the idea of my father's imminent return was too erotic for me. I had had my chance. Acknowledging my place made my head swim with submission and acceptance.

"I want a baby," she said.

"I know." My mind had already raced ahead to the idea that my father would be the one to give it to her. I wondered if she was thinking the same thing.

"You know, we haven't even been to a doctor yet," she mused. "We need to find out... whether it's me..."

That was true enough, I realized. There were options, medical tests, procedures. There was also a quicker alternative for possibly finding out.

"My dad's going to be here in two weeks," I finally said. Out loud.

She pulled back a bit, but with her hands still on my shoulders. "You're incorrigible," she said.

I just smiled weakly. "I know."

She bit her lip. She looked at the floor. "You'd really be okay with that." I didn't hear a question mark. I wasn't sure if I heard disappointment.

"It's... all I've been thinking about for months," I admitted.

She nodded. I wondered if that meant "me too."

Thinking about it was one thing. Thinking about it fed a fantasy, a mutual fantasy even, that had kept us fucking like bunnies for the last three months. Wanting it was something else entirely.

We were still standing in the kitchen, leaning into each other. I wasn't sure about her, but I felt like she was the only thing holding me upright. Like my bones were turning to liquid.

"Back on Labor Day," she told me, "We had agreed that this... thing... had been wildly crazy, and fun for both of us. Or, all of us. He was grateful. But he said he knew it couldn't go on forever."

"Yeah," I acknowledged.

"I kept saying we were three consenting adults playing a kinky game," she continued, her voice dropping to a hoarse whisper. "I always thought eventually the game would end and we'd be three adults who just shared a naughty secret."

"Yeah," was all I could muster.

She paused. As if giving me one last chance.

"You want me to let him knock me up?"

There it was. I couldn't say yes. I couldn't say no.

"He does make beautiful babies," she said. "Smart, beautiful babies."

Huh, I thought. Perhaps the weirdest compliment anyone had ever received, under the circumstances.

"He would have to be okay with that," she said. "Or, actually, he would have to know that you were okay with that," she added.

My breath was starting to come more rapidly. And my cock was excruciatingly hard.

"So, Ryan, it really is kind of up to you. Because I'm pretty sure he would be okay with it."

I felt the convulsion go through my body, from my shoulders to my toes.

"He told me he was, last time we were together."

It was the last piece of the puzzle. Almost.

"What do you want, Michelle?" I rasped.

She pushed back away from me, still holding on to my shoulders, but now at arm's length. As our eyes met again, I could tell that the playful, teasing sparkle had been replaced with something more resolute.

"I want it all," she said, decisively.

"I want a baby. I want to play with my kinky husband. And I want to go to sleep in the arms of my baby's big, strong father."

My knees buckled, but she caught me. She laced her fingers through mine, and led me back to the bedroom. We undressed each other. I knew she didn't like having sex at the start of her period, but she settled between my legs and took me in her mouth. After I had erupted, all too soon, she got up and retrieved my chastity cage. And worked it over my now flaccid penis. And snapped the lock into place.

Without another word being said.

She might still be teasing me, I thought. But I had let go, and now I was falling, into the abyss. I wouldn't have to tell my dad I was okay with this. I would only have to acquiesce. On Christmas Eve. While I sat on the sofa and watched the lights on the Christmas tree get blurry and listened to "Silent Night," as my father led my wife back to my bedroom.

In Game of Thrones, Khal Drogo died content with the prophesy that his son would be "the stallion that would mount the world." For me, the roles were reversed. My satisfaction would be from knowing that my father was the stallion.