My Fertile Secret Ch. 04

It's seven in the morning. My long, black hair is a disheveled mess. I have bags under my drowsy eyes. My breasts are swollen with milk. But in many ways, I couldn't be happier. My baby is three months old, and I absolutely adore him.

I'm lying on my side on the bed with my son nestled in one arm. He's resting now, his gorgeous ruddy cheeks are just like a cherub, and his little button nose is so small and thin. It makes me think of my husband's nose, which is a lot bigger on his face, and that makes me think -- once again -- about what other features will manifest as 'our' son grows up.

The fact that it's been just over a year since another man broke into my house, climbed into my bed, and raped me is hard to process. It still comes to me in dreams and the occasional flashback, but now I have a loveable reminder of that event resting by my side.

Every time I'm alone with him, I can't help but scrutinize his features in an effort to figure out what the man who raped me looks like. It's about as insightful as reading tea leaves. There's no way his paternal features will be clear until he's a few years old.

That's a relief; in the same way that realizing the iceberg your rudderless ship is doomed to hit is actually a few miles away is a relief. Our daughters both resemble me more than my husband, but they still both inherited his distinctive nose. He may need glasses to see clearly, but even he won't be so blind as to notice that 'our' son doesn't have his signature nose.

Lying immobile is making me feel tired again, and I close my eyes as I start to doze off. Almost immediately, the image of my baby with skin as black as fresh coffee pops spontaneously into my head. It makes me flinch a little, if only from the insecurity of discovery.

That would have been a spectacular way to end my marriage. My husband watching aghast as a baby with African features and richly dark skin emerges from between the strained pale lips of my pussy. One last push and my imaginary black baby slides smoothly out of my lawfully wedded vagina, all of it caught in glorious 5K definition on my cuckold husband's initiative.

I'm so much more at ease with that and similar fantasies now that I've actually given birth and know for a fact that my rapist is the same ethnicity as my husband. The prospect of birthing a Black baby aroused and terrified me in equal measure for no other reason than my secret would have been revealed in my most vulnerable moment. If I believed in a higher power, I'd thank that power every day that my baby boy came out White.

Well, three quarters White. I'm proud of my maternal Japanese heritage, and I'm happy to see the subtle signs of Asian ancestry in my son's face, just like his two older half-sisters.

My thoughts return to my rapist and the ever-present fear that he'll return. He got into our home once before and took me by surprise. Six months later, he was watching me masturbate in the front room. That means he's overdue for another visit, and that scares me even more than my husband finding out that 'his' son was fathered by another man.

I try not to think about it. What does he have to gain by returning? Forcing another baby into me? Why blow his cover and the truth about the baby's paternity just to have his way with the child's mother again? I want to rationalize away any thought or chance that he might return for a second round, but I can't quite banish the fear.

I need to get up and stretch my legs, so I rouse myself and carefully pick up my sleeping baby before carrying him to his crib and placing him inside. He doesn't even stir as I lay him on his back and gaze down at him with a loving smile.

Just then, my phone buzzes. I retrieve it from my bedside table and find that there's an email waiting for me with a secure link. I feel a knot in my stomach when I see the subject line and sender, and I quickly shuffle into the bathroom. Leaving the baby alone for two minutes won't hurt, and I really need to check this email in private.

My husband is downstairs getting ready to take the girls to school, but I lock the bathroom door behind me just in case before opening the email and tapping the link. It takes me to an encrypted webpage with the official results from the test.

The first result reads: 'Subject 1 and subject 2 are full biological sisters.'

Even though the company promises that everything is encrypted, I wasn't comfortable handing over my daughters' actual names to them, so they were anonymized as 'subject 1' and 'subject 2'. It would have made more sense to swab my husband's cheek for DNA, but since we share a bed and responsibility for a newborn, I decided that was too risky.

The first line doesn't come as a surprise; before that fateful night, a year ago, I'd never cheated on my husband, so I know perfectly well that my daughters were both fathered by my husband. And even if there had been another man, I can see their paternity in their faces.

I take a deep breath and scroll down to the second result, which reads: 'Subject 3 is a biological half-brother to subject 1 and subject 2'.

I thought I had braced myself to find out what I already knew, but it still causes the knot in my stomach to tighten painfully. I now have scientific proof that my baby son was fathered by my rapist, conceived on the other side of the closed door, and born in this very room.

The test results page makes clear that the webpage will only be active for 24 hours before it's deleted permanently. Good. I now know what I needed to know, so I delete the email.

I sit down on the fluffy bathroom mat and rest my back against the side of the expensive jacuzzi tub, the one my cuck hubby paid two grand for and where he filmed me giving birth to another man's child. This secret will weigh on me for the rest of my life, but at least he'll give me and my children a comfortable life in the meantime.

I gaze around at the tiled floor, the marble and silver fixtures, and the carved wood paneling. I look up and see a framed document hanging next to the bathroom mirror. It bears my name and intricate calligraphy in Latin and English, certifying that I completed my bachelor's degree in computer science with a minor in cybersecurity at Carnegie Mellon.

I sigh wistfully as I gaze at the elaborate document, wondering how I went from being a coding and hacking whiz to a stay-at-home mom of three and a rape victim. Part of the answer lies in the less-than-glamorous reality of my first career choice, but the rest was just life.

With three kids to look after, maybe I should brush up on my skills again.

***

The day passes uneventfully, and it's great to know that it's a Friday with the weekend ahead. My daughters are excited for the weekend as well, and they eagerly chow down pizza rolls for supper before sitting down in front of the TV for a movie. Their father and I let them have their TV time while we look after the baby.

We head upstairs with the baby while the girls enjoy their film, and my husband changes the baby before putting him in his crib. The baby is more comfortable and dozes off immediately as I lie down on the marital bed wearing nothing but a baggy shirt and panties. My husband is wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt as he climbs onto the bed and lies down next to me.

"How are you feeling down there?"

'Like only a real man can fill me up,' is my meanspirited thought.

"Better," I say out loud. "But if you're hoping to get some, you'd better go down on me first."

"Don't mind if I do." He rolls over and brings his hand to rest on my breast, and I let him fondle me. "I was starting to think you can't still be sore after three months."

"Well, the other man stretched me out a lot more than you ever could." I look pointedly at the crib, and he stifles a laugh as he concedes my point. He thinks I'm talking about the baby, and the delicious irony is that he's partly right.

"That's true." He slips his hands under my shirt and gropes my breasts, and I open my thighs for him to get in between. I can already feel the hard tip of his cock nudging against my crotch. "I don't think I could make you moan and scream the way he did."

He's talking about the baby. I'm thinking about the father.

I like the way he's fondling me. He lifts my T-shirt up and I lift my arms above my head so that he can pull it all the way off. With my bare breasts exposed, he brings his mouth down on my nipples and begins to suck on them gently. I don't really like the idea of a grown man trying to drink milk from his wife's breasts.

"Save some for the baby, will you?" I admonish him.

"But you taste so good." My husband ignores my complaint and continues licking and sucking on my tender nipples. "So rich and sweet."

I grab a handful of his hair and push his head down away from my breasts to my belly, which he continues licking and kissing. A little trickle of milk is leaking from my nipples while his fingers continue to fondle and rub the flesh of my tits.

"The milk is for the baby." I say with a much harsher tone, keeping a firm grip on my husband's hair to keep him where he is. "He needs it to grow up big and strong, like his father."

"Fair enough," my husband concedes. His licks and kisses continue across my belly and then further down through my trimmed mound of hair before reaching my special place. "I bet you taste even better down here."

His tongue slides wetly across my pussy lips and over my clitoris, and I gasp in silent pleasure. He may not be the biggest or thickest when we make love, and he doesn't have the stamina or energy to really make me cum when he fucks me, but he is an excellent pussy eater.

As my husband licks and sucks at my wet snatch, pushing my thighs wider so he can bury his face in between them, I moan and gasp with pleasure. It takes a conscious effort not to be too loud in case we wake the baby, all while keeping my fingers in his hair, holding him in place as he does to me with his lips and tongue what he struggles to do with his dick.

My eyes are closed, and I have a delicious fantasy involving my rapist. He's just fucked me so hard and long that my pussy is brimming with his virile seed. A quart of his cum just starting to trickle out of my fertile cunt, leaving me full and warm and ready to be bred once again.

My husband is licking and slurping away at my pussy lips, and I imagine him tasting another man's cum in my snatch. I picture his disbelief and horror to find that another man has left his load of baby batter inside me. In my fantasy, he begins desperately licking and sucking and slurping at my pussy to remove as much of my lover's seed as possible, frantically trying to prevent me from falling pregnant with another man's child.

Too late. My dumb-as-fuck husband is feasting on a pussy that another man has already used far better than he ever could. The fact that another man's baby passed between the sweet lips he's so eagerly licking is a delicious irony to hold over his head; and the clueless cuck caught the whole thing on film 'for posterity' -- his words, not mine.

He really is a champion pussy eater, though. The pleasure has been building in my crotch this whole time, and an orgasm sneaks up on me in the middle of my adulterous daydream. I squeal through gritted teeth, turning my head to cast a guilty glance at the baby's crib, hoping my son won't be woken up by mommy and legal daddy's foreplay.

Not a sound, so far. And now my husband is ready to get some for himself.

He gives my clitoris one last long lick before climbing back on top of me. I help him remove his T-shirt, revealing a rather lean, if somewhat scrawny, physique. He's not too bad looking, if I'm being charitable, although he could use a bigger chest and arms.

My husband pulls his sweatpants down to his ankles, revealing his hard-on standing to attention at a modest length of about five inches. He's certainly not big enough to stretch my vagina the way my rapist did, let alone the way the children did on the way out, but until the other man returns for more, my beta male husband will have to do.

I pull my panties aside for him, and he lines his cock up with my welcoming pussy lips and pushes inside. I gasp for effect, making him feel like I'm really being filled up as his length penetrates me. It's a snug fit, but he doesn't have the length to reach my cervix or the girth to stretch me out. Even so, I embrace his naked body and we share a kiss as he begins to thrust.

As he begins to hump me, I remember that we're not using protection. I look over at the bedside table where we have a pack of condoms we haven't used in ages. I've also got a stash of Plan B pills in the bathroom for occasions like this. I don't want to get pregnant again, and if I do, it certainly won't be by the man fucking me now.

My husband grabs my chin and turns my head back to face him. I look into his brown eyes as he gazes into my almond eyes. His enormous nose is as distracting as ever, and he's panting heavily through his mouth as he struggles to keep up an adequate pace. I bring my hands up to his face and pull him into another kiss as he continues pumping his cock into me.

Once we break off the kiss, I pull his head down next to mine so that we're making love chest to chest. I use my hands to caress the back of his head and scratch his shoulders, and then I run my hands up and down his back while gripping his undulating ass. It's not nearly as large and firm as my rapist's ass, and that leads me to another fantasy.

Of course, I'm going to imagine my rapist in place of my husband when we make love. I recall every inch of his body grinding against mine. His muscular chest pinning me down to the bed, trapping my feminine frame beneath his masculine bulk. His toned abs rubbing back and forth against my own smooth belly, lubricated by the sweat of his exertions.

I remember his penis inside me. His eight-inch-long member reaching all the way up to the gates of my womb while his ample girth stretches my womanly walls wide, making my pussy wet with the need to make his movement inside me smooth and comfortable. Each thrust of his cock inside my cunt made me whimper and squeal with pleasure, and that reminds me to fake an orgasm when the cuck who married me is close to cumming.

I can tell by my husband's ragged breath that he really is close to an orgasm -- or maybe he's just close to exhausting himself. How pathetic would it be if he ran out of breath before he managed to blow his load? Still, he's putting in the effort. The thrusting of his modest penis is accelerating. He's determined to push on to the finish line before his stamina runs out.

I start to breathe and moan more loudly while taking care not to make too much noise. When I sense he's about to cum, I unleash a feigned orgasm at just the right volume to be convincing without waking the baby. My husband grins at having made me cum, or so he thinks, and his confidence boost spurs him on until he finally releases his load with a strained groan of pleasure.

I feel his cock twitching inside me, and then I feel the spurt of his warm seed filling me up. We haven't had sex in months, not since before my son's birth, and it's obvious he's been saving up this load just for me. It's not a bad volume, if I'm being honest, and it actually does give me a full and warm feeling deep inside.

My husband collapses on top of me and lies there, catching his breath while I drag my fingers across his skin to caress and tease him while staring up at the black ceiling fan. There's a glassy little knob in the center of the dome from which the silver fan blades radiate out. He bought it over a year ago, and he still hasn't fixed it since it stopped working after the first week.

My thoughts return to more domestic matters. We just did it unprotected, so I start formulating a plan to get a Plan B pill down my throat. One of us also needs to go downstairs and check on the girls while the other needs to stand watch for the baby. Both of us also need to get cleaned up, but showering together would mean leaving the baby alone.

My husband stirs on top of me. I'm surprised he hasn't fallen asleep after busting his nut. He pulls out of me and rolls over to his side of the bed, opening his mouth wide with a yawn.

"Don't nod off too soon." I scoot forwards to the edge of the bed. "I need to get cleaned up, so keep an eye on the baby while I shower, will you?"

"Sure thing, sweetheart," my husband acknowledges as he plays ideally with his floppy cock. "Just don't spend too long playing with yourself in there."

"Why? Are you worried you can't satisfy me?" I soften the barb with a teasing tone.

"Ouch. I may not be He-man, but I'm pretty confident I can."

"Then don't you worry about what I get up to when you're not in the room." I climb back onto the bed and stick my tongue in his mouth. We share a long kiss, and he tries to pull me in closer as his soft cock stirs and hardens again. I break off the kiss and pull away again. "I'm taking a shower, and possibly touching myself for a finisher, so keep an eye on the baby."

I remove myself from my husband's embrace and he slaps my ass as I climb off the bed again.

"Seriously, keep an eye on the baby," I order him.

"I will, I will," he assures me, pulling his sweatpants up and retrieving his shirt.

"Maybe take a look at his face and see how much he resembles his father." I prance off to have a shower and pop some Plan B while hubby's quizzical gaze follows me to the bathroom.

***

It's a bright sunny day on Saturday morning, and I have things to do. My husband was kind of bewildered when I told him I have an appointment in town and all but forced the baby into his arms. I pumped some breast milk earlier and made sure to stock up on formula in case it runs out, but he'll be responsible for taking care of the baby and entertaining our daughters.

I take the brand-new hybrid Mitsubishi SUV out for a spin, another expensive gift that my kind and hardworking hubby bought to complement the Honda Civic we already have. We share the Honda for grocery shopping and other trips into town, and the Mitsubishi takes some getting used to, but before long, it's an absolute breeze.

No, I don't really have an appointment with anyone, but I do have something I need to do alone while in town: have fun. It was partly a dare I made with myself. The terrible secret at the heart of my marriage is such an emotional burden, but hubby really is none the wiser. Do I dare leave that secret alone with the man who would feel most betrayed if he found out?

There's an irresistible buzz of excitement from pulling the wool over my scrawny cuck hubby's eyes. He can barely see past the end of his giant nose without his glasses, so he'll probably -- probably -- never see what's right under that nose.

It feels so good to get away from all my home and family responsibilities for the day. I feel like a great weight has been removed from my bare shoulders even as my heart races from the thrill of the deception. I love the fact that my cuckold husband is stuck at home taking care of a baby that he thinks is his while his wife swans around town doing whatever she wants.

I arrive in the center of town and park the car. I step out and retrieve my handbag before shutting and locking the door carefully. Then I look up at the huge shopping mall where I'll be spending hubby's hard-earned money enjoying myself like I'm single again.

I'm wearing a backless white lace mini dress with a hem that stops halfway down my thighs, secured by straps over my bare shoulders and leaving my cleavage on show. I've got a strapless bra on underneath with padding to stop any leakage, and I strut towards the mall entrance in a pair of four-inch stiletto-heeled sandals showing off my painted red toes.