My Father's Woman Ch. 08 - Orange

My bloodline would end with me, but my father's would go on, passed down through the womb of the woman who had pledged her faithfulness to me at our wedding.

***

EIGHT MONTHS LATER

We were all gathered around the Peterson's pool. It was Megan's birthday party, the anniversary of the date last summer when most of my neighbors had met my father. Megan was the birthday girl, but Michelle was the center of attention, proudly displaying her large pregnant belly, dressed in a pristine white maternity sundress.

I was at her right shoulder, accepting congratulations as well. My father was on her left, beaming as well. He was a regular here now, having spent almost every weekend with us for the past several months. Everyone thought it was adorable, Ryan's dad coming to help the expectant parents prepare their home for his grandchild. What a great guy my dad was.

Even Diane said so. My silver vixen of a neighbor had at one time targeted my father for acquisition. Once he had started being here almost weekly, and perpetually unresponsive to his advances, she had written him off and moved on. She was here tonight with yet another new boyfriend.

"So," someone asked. "Have you decided on a name yet?"

"John," Michelle said, blushing.

"John Robert Donovan, Junior," my father beamed.

Michelle looked at him quickly, but only bit her lip. I glanced around the patio, looking for knowing glances. I didn't see any. Eventually I slipped away from the crowd, leaving them in a cluster, my father's hand moving to my wife's distended belly all too frequently. The pre-teens splashing in the pool behind them. The world was oblivious. My reality was just too inconceivable.

I went to the dining room, where the bar and a food table was set up, and refreshed my drink. It's not like I was going to need to perform tonight. Plus, my cock was firmly caged, as it had been most of the time for the past several months.

"Hey, there, Mister DAH-novan," I heard. I was already smiling weakly as I turned to greet Dani, Diane's twenty-year-old daughter, home again from college for the summer. She was, as usual, swaying provocatively from side to side. She was dressed tonight in a little floral mini dress, the top three buttons undone, revealing the bustier underneath that was pushing her delightful full cleavage up, an offering to any male that wanted to look. As usual, she was wearing clumpy Doc Martens boots. This year, her cute little curly bob haircut was dyed blue.

"Hi, Dani," I responded, my cock inevitably swelling in its cage, as it always did whenever I encountered the young woman who had sucked off my dad a year ago this weekend.

"Michelle is beautiful," she said. I nodded in agreement.

"John, Junior," she smiled.

"Pardon?" was the only response I could come up with, my stomach churning.

"Shouldn't it be Ryan Junior?" she asked.

I played dumb.

"I mean, naming your son after your dad is cool," she continued, taking a sip from whatever was in her red solo cup. "But he wouldn't be a junior, in that case, would he? Unless..."

I tried to look away from her, but I couldn't help myself. Her eyes were sparkling with amusement, and understanding.

"Mmm, that's what I like about you, Mister DAH-novan. You're so kinky."

Of course, if anyone would figure it out, it would be Dani. Probably the only girl, or woman, I knew who was similarly inclined.

"Don't worry," she smiled at me. She took another drink, her eyes still locked on mine. What was she thinking? "I won't tell"? "I don't care"?

Instead, she just blinked her big eyes at me, heavy with mascara, and kept smiling. "Well..." she said, "Have fun." And then she turned and walked away, her broad bottom swaying as she walked into the kitchen.

I remained where I was, aching in my cage, as she sought out the tall man with the salt-and-pepper hair who was her mother's new boyfriend, and flirted with him, twirling one finger in her frizzy blue locks.

***

Later that night, I had retired to what was now my room, the guest quarters on the far end of the house from the master bedroom.

The "in-law suite" had its own entrance to the side yard. I heard a gentle tapping at the door. I pulled a pair of jogging pants over my boxers and went to see who it was.

It was Dani, standing there with a Cheshire cat grin on her face, swaying from side to side, making her short skirt swish around her thick thighs. "Hi, Mister DAH-novan," she said. "Or should I say, 'hi, Mister Cucky?"

Her little verbal taunt knocked me back a bit, but not enough to overcome my need to scan the yard and the street, to see if anyone was watching. "Can I come in?" she asked.

I stepped back and ushered her in. I couldn't imagine it was a good idea, but the last thing I wanted was for anyone in the neighborhood to see us chatting in my open doorway at midnight. And despite my reservations, I felt my cage get tight as she brushed by me, her wavy blue hair bouncing and her body smelling of perfume and possibility.

"Lie down, cucky," she ordered me. I obeyed, placing my head on the pillows.

She climbed onto the bed beside me, up by my head. She swung one leg over me, facing down, her ass against the headboard. Her skirt rode up her chubby thighs, enveloping me in darkness and heat and aroma. But not before I noticed that she wasn't wearing panties, and that the carpet matched the drapes. Her plump vulva was shaved smooth, but the clump of pubic hair above her slit was dyed blue like her hairdo.

Her shins and her boots were pinning my arms to my sides. She hovered above me, and then reached down and grabbed my caged cock through my thin pants, and laughed.

"I'll bet this is the only kind of sex you get these days," she smirked. And then she lowered her pudenda onto my face.

I tried to drive my tongue into her, but she had other ideas. She rocked wildly, smearing her moist labia over me from my chin to my forehead. I moaned in frustration, and she laughed. Then she finally seated herself firmly over my mouth.

Now she let me probe her with my eager tongue. The last of her mother's lover's semen flowed out of her in a gooey clump, settling on my tongue, filling my mouth with its salty taste and its repulsive texture. I held it there, squishing it against the roof of my mouth, before swallowing it. The rest of it, I realized, was what she had been slathering onto my cheeks and eyebrows in the previous moments.

I shuddered and blinked, and opened my eyes.

Dani wasn't in my room. It had only been a fantasy. The only kind of sex I got these days.

And then I settled back and closed my eyes again and concentrated on the vision of what almost surely was happening on the other end of my house.

***

On the other end of the house, John Donovan -- soon to be John Donovan, Sr., he thought with a smile -- was getting up on his knees on the end of the bed. His bed, now, for all intents and purposes. The bed that he shared now with his daughter-in-law.

He still thought of her as his daughter-in-law. And she was, technically. She was still legally married to his son. But he was long past feeling awkward or guilty about her marital status, about the husband he had supplanted, his own son. If anything, the total wrongness of the situation just fueled his on-going lust and passion for her, thirteen months into this affair. It was why, at age sixty-one, he still had an iron-firm erection every morning and every night.

His daughter-in-law. She was already on the bed. She was on her knees, too, and her shoulders. He nudged her legs further apart as he knee-walked his way up between them, and she arched her back, presenting the engorged and glistening lips of her vaginal vestibule to him. They were darker now than they used to be, and he loved to think of the reason why. He gently -- slightly more than gently, but carefully -- clapped his hands onto her hips, his fingers grasping her waist. She was a couple of inches thicker there now than she had been last summer when he first got used to grasping her that way. That was fine with him, too.

He needed to be gentle. He was still unfamiliar with this. Thirty, thirty-five years ago when his ex-wife had been pregnant with his two sons, they stopped having sex months before she gave birth. But Michelle assured him it was okay. Moreover, she demanded it.

He looked down. Satisfyingly, his thick, uncircumcised cock was plenty rigid enough that neither one of them had to guide him into her with a hand. He just probed with his hips until he found his mark between her labia and watched them part and peel back his foreskin as he pushed himself into her.

He looked to his right to find the image in the floor-length mirror on the closet door, the two of them in profile. Her eyes were closed, and her soft lips were parted, breathing shallowly through her mouth. The side of her face was on the bedspread, like her knees and elbows.

And so were her now-pendulous breasts and her great, distended pregnant belly.

John tightened his grip on her waist and began gently but intently sawing his thick cock in and out of the luxuriant body of the woman who was carrying his child.

Michelle. His daughter-in-law. His son's wife. But his woman.