The Surrogate Ch. 06

She pushed herself up, lifting until our eyes could focus on each other.

She smiled, a happy smile.

"Don't spank me for what I'm about to say," she said.

I chuckled and pulled her down for a kiss.

"You haven't been naughty, have you?" I asked.

"No, David, but I need to get off. My flab is making me uncomfortable like this," she said.

She covered my mouth quickly.

"No, Honey, I'm not 'putting myself down' as you say," she said, "it's just a fact. My belly is soft and fat and this is uncomfortable. I'm not ashamed. Hell, you have me convinced and I'm going to make you take me to Gator Bayou later and I'm going to pose and stretch and I hope I'll be looked at. But right now," and she sort of wiggled and I could feel the softness of her belly moving against me, "this is uncomfortable."

I smiled and kissed her.

"Okay," I said, and pushed, helping her roll off of me.

When she sort of flopped onto her back with a big sigh her nipple was right there, almost dribbling it was leaking so badly. It seemed to beckon so I covered it and began nursing. This wasn't suckling for nourishment, this was just holding her nipple in my mouth and enjoying such an intimate sharing.

She must have liked it too because she started stroking my hair and humming a soft lullaby.

I chuckled, released her nipple, and said, "Have you ever listened to the words of that lullaby?"

"Sure," she said softly, relaxed.

"Have you ever thought about them?" I asked.

"Well," she said, and I could feel the slight tension in her body as she stopped to think, "I guess I haven't really."

"Welllllllllll," I said, drawing out the alveolar lateral approximant, the "l" sound, "Think about it. In the old days when you had to keep working in the field or face starvation, you'd take the baby with you and tie the little cradle into a tree. The wind blows, the cradle rocks, the baby sleeps."

I grinned, kissed her nipple, and looked up at her.

"But then, oops, the bough breaks, and down comes baby, cradle and all," I said. "Hope the little tyke survives."

"You're TERRIBLE," she said but she was giggling as I latched on, nursing, keeping both of us satisfied.

"Okay, Husband," she said and I thought, "You've been reading too much Robert Heinlein again," "Come along and wash my back. I'm a mess."

I rolled out of bed and trotted around to the other side, grinned, and offered my hand.

"Your escort awaits, my Bride," I said. I read Heinlein too.

She giggled and I helped her stand.

"Oh, God," she said as I held her there, staring, slowly looking her up and down.

"You are beautiful," I said, and she was. Her face was still full and flushed and with no makeup I thought she looked great even if the years did show. Her breasts, both drained now, hung loose, the stretch marks showing bright, her nipples distended, dark, and pointing at the floor. Her belly hung, empty now, not the big roll of the obese but the heavy flap of a woman who has recently delivered a baby. The two soft hemispheres were marked by livid stretchmarks and one of those weird tufts of hair had formed right at the crease where her belly apron split into two flat hemispheres.

Between her legs, her inner lips, stretched so badly during the birth, dangled inches below the soft, plump outer lips, themselves hanging visibly.

Her thighs showed the fat pads she accumulated in her pregnancy, her calves were oddly slender, almost out of proportion to the rest of her, and her feet were still swollen, toes like little sausages pushing out from the pads of fat.

She was gorgeous.

In the shower, I washed her face being careful around her eyes. I washed and rinsed and washed and rinsed.

Her hair was a tangled mass as I started working the shampoo into it. I took my time. I rinsed, worked a hefty dollop of conditioner in to loosen it up, and then shampooed her again. With her hair finally clean and conditioned I started on her body.

And no, there is nothing, absolutely nothing, sexier than a woman's body that first few days after she gives birth. I washed her breasts carefully. I made sure to lift them so I could clean where they lay against her body and could get sweaty and rashy. I washed her arms, making her giggle when I was careful to get those fat pads at the backs of her upper arms, deliberately making them jiggle and her giggle.

I did her belly, each soft roll separately, being sure to wash all the way to the bottom of the crease, another place where rashes might form.

I was careful with her pussy. I knew she was sore but still, she needed to be cleaned. The way she dangled, I could hold and soap those lips. She giggled when I lifted her clitoral hood and washed there too, making her squeal.

It was a sensual shower because we both enjoyed touching each other, kissing each other, and yes, loving each other in every way. I got to my knees and did her legs and feet. Then I turned her around and did her legs and ass.

Her gluteal sulcus, the crease where her butt meets her legs, was sagging a little. I was fascinated, hell, I was captivated, by how quickly changes to her body had happened. She always had a pretty obvious bubble butt but this morning it was sagging. I suppose it was the way her skin had stretched and now, without the tension of a uterus carrying eight or nine pounds of baby out front, stretching skin to hold it taut, was part of it.

Regardless of precisely why, the result was, I thought, absolutely striking.

"Your ass is even more beautiful today," I said, loud enough to be heard over the shower.

She turned and smiled.

"Even more spankable you mean?" she asked.

I grinned up at her.

"If it comes to that, yes," I said.

I stood then and started on her back. Those heavy pads at her shoulder blades seemed to have changed too, another difference brought on by hormones and the loss of skin tautness as the beachball she had swollen was gone.

I washed them and, as I had with her belly and breasts, I made sure to wash all the way to the bottom of the fold.

She hummed softly as I did it, my fingers digging deeply.

I did her shoulders and neck and patted her, saying, "Finished."

She did me then, taking her time, following the same pattern, face to hair to body. I thought she spent more time than was strictly necessary on my dick but, well, I didn't complain.

We dried each other afterward. We laughed and she giggled when I jiggled that sexy belly apron.

There was just s second of awkwardness when she looked down and saw the little stain on the towel I was using to dry between her legs. I smiled, said, "Hold that thought," and went into the bedroom to retrieve the sanitary belt from the pile of clothes we had sort of casually deposited on the floor.

Back in the bathroom, I got to my knees on the thick bathmat. In part, it was to give me a good view to get the belt and pad on her but in part, well, shit, let's be honest here.

In part it was me worshiping at the feet of a fertility Goddess.

Okay, okay, I know that's a bit over the top but, well, that's how it felt.

I adjusted the belt at her belly, hooked the pad in the back, pulled it through her parted legs, and hooked it in front. When I leaned back to look she smiled and struck a pose.

"Sexier than any bikini," I said, and I meant it.

"And what," she asked, grinning a little, "do you have in mind for me to wear as you show me off?"

I smiled, kissed her, and said, "As little as I can get by with."

I walked her into the bedroom and then started rummaging through her closet but everything there was too formal. Well, covered too much up.

So I started through her drawers and found something.

Remember, she had been already big and pregnant when I met her so this was new territory for me. Her body was shaped differently now.

In the back of a drawer, I found a pair of cut-off jeans that I figured wouldn't leave much to the imagination. In the next drawer up I found a T-shirt that had been cut short that I thought would show her off nicely. I figured a nursing bra, and she had several, would keep her from leaking all over the T-shirt. And that took care of her wardrobe.

So I dressed her.

Well, I put the bra on her, stepped back, admired her, and chuckled as she blushed under my gaze.

"You are SO hot," I said.

She giggled, lifted the soft flesh of her belly, and let it fall with an audible slapping sound. Relaxed like that it pretty much covered the postpartum pad between her legs.

I dropped to my knees and did the prostrating thing, my arms straight over my head as I bent forward, saying, "I am not worthy."

She laughed at that, a full-on belly laugh, and said, "Arise, Minion."

"First," I said, knee-walking forward and holding the cut-offs for her to step into. I worked them up and realized they had to button under her belly, leaving it hanging over.

"Oh, fuck," I breathed and kissed her belly button where it hung there, just begging to be kissed.

I stood and smiled at her.

"Tell me," she said.

"You are beautiful," I said.

"In this moment," she said, a single tear welling and then running down her left cheek, "I believe you."

I kissed the tear away, tasting salt, and took her hand.

At the front door, I helped her into her sandals and then walked her to the car.

On the way to the beach, we had the radio on my favorite oldies station. I could tell she was nervous but I didn't try to talk her out of it. I figured my best approach would be to just show her.

I stopped at the Publix store we always stopped at when we were heading for the beach. She wanted to stay in the car but I got her to come with me. It was fun, really, watching her. For the first several steps as we walked across the parking lot she was sort of hunched over, trying to make herself seem smaller. But I walked beside her, holding her hand, telling her how beautiful she was, and before long she was back, walking with back straight, shoulders back, and daring the world to fuck with her. I liked it.

We selected four different sausages, a half dozen types of cheese, a few apples, a few oranges, and stopped in the liquor department for a bottle of the cheapest Chianti they had. You know, the stuff that is so dry you wonder if you can remove paint with it if you decide you don't like it.

It wasn't tourist season yet, and it wasn't really warm enough to get the snowbirds to the beach so while we didn't have it to ourselves, there weren't many there and we had at least exchanged "hellos" with most of them.

I grabbed our beach basket, an oversized picnic basket we kept ready. I stopped to transfer the wine to the wineskin, slung our beach blanket over the top of the basket, and took her hand, walking with her to the beach.

Again, the transition was fascinating as she gained confidence or, maybe, just decided "fuck it." By the time we reached the flat part of the beach and spread the blanket, she was pretty much all the way back.

Once we had the blanket spread I was reaching for her, anxious to get her clothes off. I peeled the T-shirt up and off, unhooked her bra and got it off of her, and then dropped to my knees to unbutton, unzip, and peel the cutoffs down and off.

And once again I just looked, stunned, at how damn beautiful she was, how sexy, how damn desirable she was. I thought about it but decided to leave the pad on. It made kind of a unique bikini bottom.

I blew up the little pillow and helped her lay back.

"Open wide," I said and turned up the wineskin, shooting the stream into her mouth and then licking where I missed before taking a drink myself.

"What is it?" she asked, laying back, hands laced behind her head, legs parted in the pleasant supplication of a true sun worshipper, "about the beach that makes me horny?"

I laughed as I peeled off my T-shirt and kicked off my jeans, almost falling in the process, and then laughed as a line from a Blake Shelton song ran through my mind - "I fell down, tryin' to kick off my jeans."

"What is it?" I asked, "about being with the sexiest girl on the beach that makes my dick hard?"

"That one's easy," she said, eyes closed, smiling, "you have a functioning Y chromosome. Honey, a mound of sand on the beach makes your dick hard."

I smiled although she couldn't see me with her eyes closed, and started laying the lunch out. I unfolded the hinged plastic platter and began cutting pieces from the sausages, cheeses, and fruits.

I'm no cook, but I do picnics very well.

I folded a soft silk scarf into a rectangle and laid it across her eyes.

I lit the joint I pulled from the little plastic tube that held toothpicks too, and put it between her lips.

At the beach, she relaxes completely and enjoys these little attentions.

After three hits each, I carefully put the joint out for further use and began feeding her.

For the next hour, I would brush a piece of sausage or a little cube of cheese across her lips and then pop it into her mouth. I loved watching her eat when we picnicked. She took an almost sexual pleasure from each bite. When she would open her mouth wide in invitation I'd shoot a stream of the wine into it.

It was a very pleasant hour.

I watched her stretch, luxuriously, like a cat, a big ripple moving up her body from her heels to her scalp as she worked each muscle individually.

Her legs parted as she finished the stretch and she said, softly, "Change my pad, Honey."

I kissed her and started on the pad. The front was easy but she had to roll onto her side to get the back free. When I had it off I looked. There was a thin, reddish-brown line down the middle and that scent was in the air.

I was hard but although this was a clothing-optional beach, public sex was discouraged so I didn't take her, as much as I wanted to.

"It didn't really need changing," I said.

"Oh, I know," she said, "I just wanted to feel you do it."

I laughed then.

"Pervert," I said as I got the fresh pad in place.

She rolled then, quickly, that grace and athleticism she could show from time to time on display, and got to her feet.

"Okay, pervert," she said, smiling, "you wanted to show me off. Let's walk."

So we walked down the beach. We exchanged greetings, well, waves, with several along the way.

Dressed only in that Kotex pad, with her lactating nipples dark with the blood flow, and the light cool breeze making them hard, her baby fat and stretchmarks showing in that way only a mom's body fresh from childbirth can show them, she was truly a fertility Goddess. And she walked as if she realized, finally, the truth of that. Her back was straight, her shoulders back, her breasts and belly proudly displayed.

We were about as far as I thought we should go, she had, after all, delivered a baby very recently, when a woman we had shared beers with a time or two came up. She was 50-something and could usually be found with a 20-something escort. She was that kind of woman. She was slender, almost skinny, with small sagging breasts, wide hips, and was perfectly smooth from the neck down. As always, she was made up as if she was going to the ball, not to the beach.

"You had it," she said, taking Nancy's hands in hers, "Boy or girl?"

Nancy was smiling. "A healthy baby girl."

"Well good for you," the woman said and I finally pulled her name up, Marti. "You look terrific by the way," she added.

"That's what I keep telling her," I said.

"Thank you," Nancy said.

"Well, I just wanted to say 'hi,'" Marti said, "but I don't dare leave," and she paused.

When she started again I realized she had been searching for his name.

"Fred," she said, with a little giggle, "alone. His eyes get restless if you know what I mean."

We all laughed. I know, it was immature but, well, dammit, it WAS funny.

By then we were ready to head back. As we walked down the beach, her back was straight and she was walking proudly.

At home, we showered, getting the sand and salt off, and went to bed.

The oral sex I gave was spectacular. Her body was still stretched and gorgeous. As I kissed and licked her swollen distended labia majora, the full thick outer lips, and gently sucked the labia minora, those delicate pink inner lips I inhaled deeply, her postpartum womanscent had slightly different pheromones.

They still worked and I was hard.

But her body was responding to what I was doing, and I felt no need to hurry. Hell, quite the opposite. I felt a need to make certain she was satisfied.

And I realized something.

I was enjoying her taste. There was the odd, coppery taste of blood, and the thick salty taste of mucus. But under it was something else, very bitter, that made it even more perfect. It mixed with the salty oily taste of her vaginal mucus membranes and the produce of her Bartholin's and Skene's glands.

I said I "enjoyed" the taste of her. That's not quite right. I LOVED the taste of her. I suppose, on some level, I understood I was addicted.

I didn't care.

I wanted more.

"Push," I said.

"David?" she said, softly, "Are you sure this is what you want?"

I smiled at her, putting every ounce of my boyish charm into that smile, and said, "Please."

She took a slow, deep breath, a long inhale.

And laid her head back on the pillow.

Her cervix peeked out first, and I kissed it.

She took another breath and pushed and I watched, my hand underneath for support, as she prolapsed.

It was changing already. Her uterus was fuller and firmer, taking on the pear shape it is always described as having. It was pink and smeared with that brownish discharge.

And I licked it, greedily, loving her taste, inhaling her scent, enjoying the way she squirmed a little, her legs scissoring slowly.

By the time I had her clean, she was breathing in harsh little pants, like she had in the delivery room.

When I sucked her cervix gently, drinking a wonderful combination of her postpartum discharge and the love honey of her arousal, she jerked and her core retreated into her body.

"Oh, shit," she breathed, "come up here."

I crawled up and supported myself on my arms, looking down at her as I slipped inside of her. And slipped is the right word. She was still less than 72 hours from giving birth and she was still stretched and loose. Besides that, her natural lubricants were flowing.

"God," she breathed very softly and reached up and touched my chin. I could see the dark smear on her finger as she looked at me, looked at it, and then put it in her lips and sucked.

She frowned.

"Ewwww," she said, and then, "pervert."

"Not pervert," I said, bending down and kissing her, "addict."

"Jesus, David," she said, her body starting to respond to my slow, easy rhythm, "I never imagined anybody like you."

"And I never imagined I would marry the Earth Mother," I said, "but I did."

She giggled again.

"Make me cum, Honey," she said, "with you inside of me. And then let's just go to sleep."

So I did. I kept that easy rhythm going until she came, and then kept it going through four more orgasms for her before my own need took me.

Both spent, we snuggled together. She offered her breast and I latched on like a hungry baby.

I laughed softly and she pulled away.

"What's funny, Baby?" she asked.

"I was just thinking that I enjoy nursing on all of you," I said, nuzzling for her nipple again.

"Pervert," she said again, but she was stroking my hair.

I think she was asleep before I was.

I think I heard her soft snores as I drifted off.

But, honestly, I'm not sure those weren't mine.