The Examination Ch. 05byvargas111©
"You haven't been to the clinic, Angelica and I didn't get you pregnant.”
"Then who did?"
"How should I know?" James teased. "Have you been sleeping around?"
"No, you bastard, only with ..." She stopped and rapidly counted the days. She had been ovulating soon after Robert's visit to James's clinic. A look of consternation spread over her face. "But that's impossible."
"I reversed Robert's vasectomy, Angelica, and told him about our now defunct arrangement. I'm sure Robert will be very happy to find he's going to be a father for the first time."
"My god! I'm as horny as ever. So from now on I'll have to take precautions?"
"That's up to you, but don't expect too much help from Robert. Under the circumstances I can bet he will be wanting to make up for lost time."
Malcolm Foster was mad as hell. He had been waiting in this damned doctor's office for forty five minutes. He could be out on the street dealing. This delay was costing him money, over $1500, but it couldn't be helped. He wasn't here of his own free will.
Everything had started going wrong for Malcolm several months ago when his favorite woman, that horny white bitch named Kathy had been snatched out of his life. He had had made with her. She craved sex and by giving or withholding his woman pleaser, he had made her a virtual sex slave. The oversexed slut had learned to cook for him better than any of his black girlfriends and she had let him make her pregnant twice. Malcolm had been thinking it was time she started working on another little bastard when everything changed. He didn't underhand how she suddenly was able to laugh off his bullying and then get some rich white man screwing her. Even before the old bastard married her, he installed Kathy in a fancy apartment with security that didn't let Malcolm in.
Malcolm though his luck had turned when Horse Jones and the other four Wizards starters showed up at his house one day. He quickly learned his mistake. It was funny, they seemed to know all about him. "Kathy tells me you like white girls," Horse said a little menacingly.
"Sure, Bro'," Malcolm replied nervously. "Them white bitches really likes a nice big piece of black meat."
"And I believe you've said that you like to `get a horny a white woman so addicted to my cock she'll let me make her pregnant,' or word to that effect?" asked "Jumper" Bradford
"Uh ... sure," Malcolm answered truthfully, but growing apprehensive about this line of questioning.
"Well, that real convenient," remarked Rufus Prescott
"Because we've got just the girl for you." continued "Apple" Appleby
"Drop those pants, my friend. Let's see if you've got what it takes to keep a hungry woman satisfied," Jumper ordered. Malcolm was a big man, but no more than any one of these five LARGE black men. He decided to comply. The team made a quick assessment of Malcolm's crotch assets and went into a huddle.
"It's worth asking her, I guess," said Rufus.
"Come in here, Ethel, baby," Apple called. "What do you think?"
A thin redhead in hot pants appeared in the door. Ethel Patterson appraised Malcolm carefully, paying especially close attention to the zone between his legs and then grinned. "I'll take him."
"Looks like you've got yourself a new girlfriend," smiled Horse.
"What are you talking about, man?" Malcolm objected, looking over the woman who was looking him over. "That ain't no woman. that's a scarecrow! Look at her! Hell, I've seen bigger tits on a gnat. And her rear end! There ain't enough meat on her scrawny ass for a man to sink his teeth into." Malcolm protested.
"Sorry you feel that way," Rufus frowned. "We were hoping to find someone to take a very enthusiastic lady off our hands. Coach says she's wearing us out." The others nodded in agreement.
"What's going on?" Ethel objected. "You told me you knew someone who could keep me happy."
"He will, baby. He will," Apple reassured her. "Just be patient.
"You obviously don't know a good thing when it looks you in the eye, my friend," Horse lectured with the full support of his team mates. "I guess you'd better go talk to a friend or ours. Here's the telephone number. Ask for an appointment with Dr. Bock and tell them Horse sent you." Malcolm had understood that he was not free to ignore the suggestion. That's why he was sitting here, in this funny looking room, waiting to see some dumb *women's* doctor.
"You can come in now, Mr. Foster." said a tall beautiful back woman. Malcolm again thought his luck was about to change. This time, he was right.
Several weeks later Malcolm was lying somewhat dazed and exhausted, looking up into the shining eyes of the lithe redhead who straddled him. It always amazed him that a woman who weighed no more than Ethel could *drain* him the way she did. No matter how many times he made her cum, she kept demanding more and more until he was a noodle. "Oh, is that all?" Ethel asked, never able to hide completely her disappointment when Malcolm petered out. "Is my `tweet chocolate popcicle all tired-y poo?" she continued, slipping into baby talk. Malcolm was drifting off. "Tweetie," she asked pensively. "How would `ou wike doing me doggie?"
It was like mentioning food to someone after a big meal. Malcolm groaned. The woman was insatiable! "Oh, baby, I'd love to, but not right *now*."
"Oh, I know `at. Wight now my widdle boy is going to take a wong nappy so tomowow he will be big and twong again," Ethel reassured, obviously referring more to Malcolm's limp cock than to him. "Mamma Ethel means would `ou wike to do her the doggie way all the time for the last month or two?"
Malcolm had been having trouble paying attention. Even when she didn't have him fucked him out, Ethel's baby talk made him sleepy, but the implication of her question suddenly brought him fully awake. He looked up at her, his eyes wide with surprise. If she weren't a proper wife and mother, the expression on Mrs. Ethel Foster's face would have to be called a shit eating grin.
"`At's wight, `ou naughty boy. `Ou put that bid old bwack baby-maker in a bewwey of `ou's bwand new widdle white bwide once too often duwing our honeymoon. Now `ou'll just have to suffer the consequences!" she teased.
Malcolm was too happy to say anything as Ethel looked down at him, as if awaiting his reply. "Ouuuh!" she brightened. "I'll take that as `yes,'" she said and began to hump up and down again on Malcolm's reviving cock.
"Hell, no I'm not paying more than 6 cents a MCF for Bangladeshi gas. If they don't want to sell at that price, tell them *they* can build the damned pipeline!" Trent Atturbury snapped, punching off his cellular so hard it might be damaged. Life was funny , he thought. The last thing he ever expected in life was being saddled with his father's business. Unless it was enjoying the hell out of it! Trent had wanted to be a writer, moving words around on paper. Moving men and money around the world turned out to be much more fun!
The turn of events in Trent's life was almost unbelievable. First his father had gone off the deep end over Kathy, an old girlfriend of his, a welfare mother with a houseful of children. Then Daddy decided to chuck the business and turn everything over to him so he could play daddy to Kathy's kids and a growing number of his own rug rats. The horny old goat had just gotten Kathy pregnant again.
As a condition of giving Trent control of a multi-billion dollar empire, however, Daddy had insisted Trent see some kind of psychologist, a Ms. Amaka Ebe, to "put some spine" in his formerly wishy-washy personality. Well, wishy-washy he was no longer, at least not in the office. Better still, however, through Amaka, Trent had met an incredible woman!
Ayo was a member of Amaka's family. Trent didn't understand exactly what the relationship was. Months ago he had accepted Ayo's advice that their liaison remain a secret among his business colleagues. "I'm not a woman you take out," she had told him with a grin. "I'm a woman to come home to." He knew what she meant. Not that she was black and he was white; he would have killed anyone who made *that* an issue, but the difference in their ages and her girth would have raised some eyebrows. Ayo had the body of a woman who had lived and loved quite a few years longer than Trent. She was built on the "Aunt Jemima" model -- the original, not the Naomi Campbell look-alike.
No one knew it, but Ayo was his other half. Outgoing where Trent was withdrawn, passionate when he was too analytic, patient when he would jump to conclusions, keeping in mind the big picture where he could be lost in detail. Ayo knew nothing about the oil and gas business, but she had saved his company from several big mistakes with her insights.
Most important, Ayo loved Trent. She loved him enough to make him tell her everything. When she asked, "How was work?" she expected, and got, a full, blow by blow recounting. She beamed with pride at Trent's triumphs, grew angry or dismissive of his conflicts, comforted him in occasional failures. Whatever happened, she was on his side, encouraging him, having more faith in him than he sometimes had in himself. Whether in happiness or despair, Ayo always told him he was wonderful and made him believe it by making love to him. hot, heavy, passionate love.
Nothing ever seemed to dampen Ayo's spirits, so when Trent found her crying one evening, he was more than surprised, he was alarmed. He had never needed to comfort her before. It was not easy to take the large woman into his arms, but her consternation made her slip into his embrace. She lay her head on his chest and sobbed. "Oh, Trent, darling, I'm so sorry. Please forgive me. I didn't intend for it to happen; you've got to believe me. I'm afraid of what you'll say and I'll do it if you tell me to, but it's wrong and I don't want to."
"Ayo, Ayo. What's wrong? What could you possible have done to need my forgiveness? Did you damage something? That Bukara in the living room? Don't be silly. This is now your house as much as mine."
"No Trent, it's not the carpet; it's ... it's everything. I've messed up. I just didn't think it could still happen; I thought I was too old."
"Ayo, honey, you're not making sense. What do you mean you thought you were too old, that you've messed up everything?"
"Our life, Trent. I messed it up by getting pregnant and its yours and I don't want to get an abortion. Please let me keep it. I'll move out and never bother you about it, but please let me keep your baby." Her words poured out in a single breath.
"Oh, Ayo, honey! Trent almost shouted. "This is the most wonderful news you could have given me. I was worried something was wrong with me. You don't know how jealous I've been of James and your niece or whatever she is. They've got four already and she expecting again. Now we are going to have a baby, too."
Ayo looked up at Trent, relief and adoration in her still tear-filled eyes. "You mean it? You want to have a baby? With a big old woman like me? You want to make me fatter?
"You are not `fat,' Ayo. You're round, and every pound you've put on since you were Amaka's age had gone to places men like to see them. If the baby takes after you, we're going to have the handsomest boy or the most gorgeous little girl imaginable. Who have you told?"
"Nobody, I was afraid you'd make me ..."
"You don't know me as well as you think, if you believed I would let you, much less make you abort a baby, even if the baby were not mine. Case closed. Get up and call Amaka to tell her she's going to have a new little cousin."
"What do you mean, `cousin?'" Don't you know, Trent? Amaka's not my niece, she's my daughter. She's going to have a new little brother or sister."
"Ayo, this is so wonderful! Yesterday I was an unattached. though spoken-for male; now I'm going to be a father. And I guess I'm Amaka's father in law and I've got grandchildren! There's just one more thing I need."
"What are you talking about?" Ayo asked, amused by Trent's strange, expansive ideas of family.
"I need a wife."
Bloody inconvenient, Col. Steve Trevor thought. Not that he was unhappy that his wife had let him make her pregnant again. He loved seeing Diana, who was so active and trim, gradually slow down and plump up when she was having a baby. He even loved making love to her when she was pregnant, at least he supposed he did. All he could actually remember from their nights together was lying at her side, stroking her swollen belly, gently sucking and kissing her laden tits and sometimes tonguing her to one orgasm after another. But they must make love. Steve Jr., two, Drucilla, one, and Diana's expanding belly was proof of that.
Still it was bloody inconvenient. Why did it have to happen that every time he got Wonder Woman pregnant, Diana turned up pregnant, too?
Paul Graves was surprised to get a call from a Dr. James Bock. It took him a minute to recall the strange doctor who a few years ago had fixed that junior partner in his firm so she would fuck him. Kathy, he seemed to remember her name. She had really been hot, couldn't get enough of him. He had enjoyed her until he got her pregnant and he had moved on. That was about the time that Betty had found out about his affairs. She had walked into Paul's office one afternoon to find his secretary carefully positioned over an arm chair with Paul fucking her like blazes.
Funny, after Betty had divorced him and he was free to screw any woman he wanted to, it turned into a bore. Finding them, telling them the same damned funny stories, taking them to the same restaurants and back to his apartment, fucking them for a few weeks and then getting rid of them -- always the most difficult part. Where was the fun in that?. Sometime he even missed Betty. She was certainly a lot more interesting to talk to that the bimbos he picked up.
This was pretty strange. The doctor suggested they meet at a downtown club. Paul was inclined to say no, but James suggested he had a new woman he wanted to introduce to Paul. What the hell? Paul agreed. He had never been very good at guy-to-guy talk, but he found that after a few beers, it was really easy to open up to Dr. Bock. Paul was telling the doctor things he never had really thought of before -- how tired he was of the meaningless conquests of airheads, how he missed his children, how he even missed having a woman who was his equal, who looked out for his interests, who would tell him he was full of shit when he was, who didn't think his beer belly "was cute."
"I've got just the woman for you" James said.
Perhaps there was some surreptitious signal or perhaps it was Kismet. Just them Paul Graves glanced over towards the entrance of the club and saw her standing there. At first he didn't recognize her. His eyes met hers and his mouth dropped. Slowly she walked toward him. It was Betty, but ... but .... Paul had never seen her like this, at least not for years. She had on a tight-fitting off-white dress cut five or six inches above her knee. The matching heels gave a roll to her hips that drove him crazy. As she drew closer he noticed the kind of large, flashy earrings he had wanted her to wear for years. Since the last time he had seen her, she had lost inches around the waist without reducing her ample hips and eye-popping boobs. If "babe" could be applied to a woman almost fifty, Betty was a babe.
Paul was so struck by seeing Betty again he hadn't noticed she wasn't alone. "Good evening, Paul, James. May I introduce my friend, Arnold."
A tall muscular blonde stuck out his had to shake. "Hi." he smiled.
Paul was struck silent again. As he shook hands with the young man he tried to place the face. He had seen it before. My god! This was the himbo that had appeared on TV with Sen. Finger. Instantly everything was clear. Betty had gotten herself sexy as hell again and now had this hunk fucking her lights out.
"Hello, Arnold. What is your line of endeavor?" Paul said, trying to be civil.
The smile faded from the young man's face and he looked at Betty for help. "Arnold is a handy man," Betty explained. "At least *I* find him very handy. Hope you're keeping well, Paul. Now if you'll excuse us ...." Betty took Arnold's hand and led him away to a corner booth.
"Amaka is bringing your date. I can't imagine what is keeping them," James remarked. Paul wasn't listening. He was staring through the dim light to see what his wife, well, his ex-wife was doing with the young man. They had been kissing for about two minutes non stop and Betty was starting to squirm. Paul thought he could see Betty's short skirt rucked up closer to her crotch as she spread her legs. From her movements it was pretty evident where Arnold's hand had gone and what *it's* line of endeavor was. Presently, several other patrons glanced over at the moans and grunts coming from the couple in the corner booth where a woman in a short white dress appeared to be having an orgasm.
"Ah, here they are," James boomed, not seeming to pay attention to the spectacle over in the corner. Reluctantly Paul turned his attention to James and the two women who had just walked in. One was tall, black, and .very beautiful. The other was a shorter cute blonde about 25.
"Sorry we're late, darling," said the taller woman as she kissed James.
"Paul, this is my wife, Amaka and Megan. Megan works in our office.
"I answer the `phones for Dr. Bock." Megan put in.
Drinks arrived and James inched close to Amaka. The lovers began whispering softly to each other. Paul was left to pretend to listen to Megan's chatter as he tried to see the action in the corner booth. James, Amaka, and Megan were the only people in the club who seemed oblivious to what was going on. Betty had thrown her head back on the seat. Her eyes were closed and sheer ecstasy rippled across her face. Her blouse was open and Arnold's face was buried in her well endowed bosom. If Betty had come with a bra, it was no longer extant. From the way her tits had jiggled as she walked in, Paul was convinced she hadn't worn one. Arnold appeared to be sucking one tit and them the other without removing his hand from between Betty's legs. She was whinnying in rut.
"You wanna dance?" Megan asked her distracted partner. He didn't, of course, but anything was better than the torture of watching his wife, well, his ex wife, getting fondled and finger fucked. The music was some strange mixture of keyboard with lots of electronic rhythm, far too fast. Paul didn't really know what to do out on the floor. The other dancers were just gyrating. Paul tried to gyrate, too, but didn't do it as well as Megan.
Objectively speaking, Megan was a sexy little thing. She had big boobs that bounced in syncopation to the music. Paul didn't understand how she could dance like that in what must have been five inch heels, but supposed she had had lots of practice. The provocative way her hips wiggled ought to have had him plotting how to get her out of that red miniskirt and his prick into her no doubt juicy little cunt. She was pretty, sexy, and not too bright -- just his type. But for some reason Paul felt no attraction to her at all. He would have been worried about his age and hormone levels had he not realized he still had an erection from watching Arnold orgasm his wife, well, his ex-wife.
Because he wasn't good at this ridiculous excuse for dancing, Paul was tiring rapidly just as Megan seemed to be getting warmed up. She was flinging one arm and then the other into the air and letting out intermittent jungle-like cries. Soon every man in the club except James was staring. Even Arnold took a break from working on Betty's twat to look. Betty, too, sat up to see what had caused the interruption in Arnold's wonderful service and grinned at the sight.