The Surrogate Ch. 09

We ate breakfast, which I made. Yes, my bride is a passable cook, but breakfast is my domain. I made a six-egg omelet, ham and cheese, with a few chunks of onion I chopped quickly. I toasted English muffins, mixed frozen orange juice, and brewed two cups of coffee, black for me, light and sweet for her.

"What?" she asked, smiling across the table as she washed her last bite of muffin down with her orange juice.

"I can't wait to be pregnant with you," I said.

She giggled at that.

"Ummmmmmmm," she said, "I'll be the preggo. You'll just be along for the ride."

I laughed and said, "You know what I mean."

She turned serious.

"Be careful what you wish for, David," she said, "you just might get it."

"I can't wait to be pregnant with you," I said again.

She smiled.

"Come on," she said and led me into the front room. She picked up her cell phone, scrolled through her contacts, and hit "Call."

"Good morning," she said after she worked her way through the phone tree and managed to contact a human being.

She smiled, and said, "This is Nancy Jones. Did the Richardson Medical Clinic call in a prescription for me?"

Pause.

She rattled off her birthday.

Pause.

"Okay, thank you. And did they include syringes in that?"

Pause.

"Great," she said, "I'll send my husband in for it in a little while. Thank you, Dear."

She hung up and smiled.

"Okay, Sweet Cheeks. You want to be a good hubby to a preggo. Head over to the CVS and pick up my prescription. While you're there get me a tube of Desitin, that's D-E-S-I-T-I-N because I tend to get weird rashes when the hormones take hold, and a fresh box of Tampon Pearl Ultras."

She laughed when she saw my look.

"Oh, Sweety, this ain't nearly the most embarrassing thing you'll be buying," she said.

I grinned, kissed her cheek, and said, "After what I did this morning, I'm pretty sure I'm beyond embarrassment."

"We'll see," she said to my back as I headed to the bedroom.

I dressed, quickly, just jeans and a T-shirt, this one with Snoopy on the front in his "Joe Cool" persona, and stuck my feet into my tennis shoes, the laces tucked into the shoes.

Back in the kitchen, where she sat sipping her coffee, I kissed her quickly and said, "Be right back."

At the drugstore, I couldn't help but smile. I don't know why, but I was. I was reminded of a friend of the family back when I was a kid. Of course, in those days, everyone seemed "old" to me, but thinking about it, I think Ted, the next-door neighbor, was probably somewhere in his 40s.

Anyway, I was aware in that sort of peripheral way kids have, that the topic of discussion was Jan, Ted's wife, who was pregnant. The group, Mom, her current boyfriend, Ted, Jan, my cousin Don, and his wife Ruth were laughing and congratulating. Ted stood, suddenly, dramatically hooked his thumbs in his belt loops, hitched up his pants, and proclaimed, - "Yep, knocked up the old lady," to a round of laughter and Jan throwing a peanut at him.

That's the way I felt, walking through the drug store with my little basket in my hand, and making my way to the pharmacist station. I could picture myself hitching up my pants, smiling, and announcing, "Yep, the old lady got her period and she'll be knocked up soon."

I didn't do that, of course, but I DID smile.

I waited behind a man I guessed was in his 70s while we both watched a girl, still in her teens, casually fill her prescription. I imagined it was for birth control pills. The man argued over the price of his half dozen prescriptions until I was getting aggravated but eventually handed over a plastic card, accepted the white bag, and left, muttering, "Fucking prices are crazy."

Finally, it was my turn.

"Pickup for Nancy Jones," I said. I couldn't help but observe that the technician, a black girl I guessed in her mid-twenties, was attractive, heavy-chested, and had great hips.

"You'd make a great surrogate," I couldn't help thinking.

I rattled off her date of birth and when the technician came back with a paper bag she said, "Step to the window, and the pharmacist will talk to you."

So I sidestepped to the little semi-private "consultation" spot and waited.

"Have you ever given an IM shot?" he asked.

"Dunno," I said, "what's that?"

He chuckled and said, "Sorry. I tend to use too much jargon. Intramuscular shot. A shot into big muscles rather than trying to hit a vein."

"Either way, the answer is 'no,'" I said, "I've never given any kind of a shot."

He smiled then.

"Okay," he said, "if you don't have any, on your way stop at the grocery store and get an orange and practice. It's not hard, but if you hesitate or jerk or anything you will hurt her."

"Okay," I said.

He opened the bag and dumped its contents.

I chuckled.

"Jesus," I said.

"Yeah," he said, "it's complicated but Nancy does a good thing."

"You know her?" I asked.

He grinned. "She's been a customer here for years."

"Anyway," he said, and started going through the stuff, explaining.

"These," he said, offering me a little round plastic case that looked like a woman's compact, "are birth control pills. Start..." but I cut him off.

"Huh? She's a professional surrogate, she wants to be pregnant," I said.

He chuckled and said, "Bear with me, please. The birth control pills will help organize and stabilize her periods so the doctor can get a firm count of days."

"Oh," I said, abashed.

"This," he said, holding up one of the little glass vials, "is Lupron. It will suppress her ovaries." He held up his hand, "Yes, I know," he said, "Her ovaries are lazy but we still need to regulate her."

I held up my hand in surrender.

"These," he said, holding up another white box, "are estrogen patches. Just like nicotine patches. One in the morning, one at bedtime. These get that uterus of hers ready."

"Once she gets scheduled for implantation," he said, "the doctor will call in a prescription and you'll give her a shot a day for a week before taking her in to get that little bun into her oven."

I looked at the array on the little shelf.

"Questions?" he asked.

I laughed. "About a million, but none I need to address right now," I said.

"Okay, then," he said, "Tell Nancy that Jeremiah says 'good luck'."

I picked up the box of Tampons, not embarrassed at all. I laughed, found that Desitin she had requested, and on a whim picked up a box of chocolates.

Back home, I smiled as I walked into the bedroom.

Nancy was lying in bed, not in a full fetal position, but her knees were together and drawn up a little.

I panicked.

"Oh, God," I said, literally running to her, "Are you okay?"

She giggled softly as she rolled onto her back and smiled up at me.

"I'm fine, Baby," she said, "It's just that I get a little crampy my first period after a delivery, that's all."

She looked at my face and reached up, grabbed me, pulled me down for a kiss, and then held me while she said, "I'm sorry, Honey," still giggling very softly, "I should have warned you. I didn't think about it."

I was still trying to calm down and get my breathing under control and she was giggling softly and saying "I'm sorry" over and over.

Finally, I was calm enough to take a second and look at her.

She was naked and so damn sexy I now understand what the phrase "sprang erect" means.

I sprang erect.

"Pervert," she said, giggling, patting my crotch.

She kissed me again.

"Okay," she said, "What'd'ja bring me?"

So I dumped the bag I was still carrying onto the bed.

"Did Jeremiah explain all of this to you?" she asked.

"You know the pharmacist?" I asked.

She grinned.

"Honey," she said, "I've been doing this a long time."

"Ahhh," she said, "this is the only thing I need right now."

She opened the box of Tampons and pulled one out.

Then she met my eyes, grinning.

"Okay, my weird husband," she said, "want to do the honors?"

I grinned back.

"Say please," I said.

She laughed.

"No, Pervert," she said, "You say please."

I kissed her, bent further, took a sip from her nipple, and then kissed my way down her body until that wonderful scent of my wife in heat took me.

I kissed her full nether lips and caught the string in my teeth.

"Please, my love," I said, looking up across her soft belly.

"Mmmmmmmmmmmm," she hummed softly, smiling, "Go ahead, pervert."

I tugged the tampon loose with my teeth.

I was surprised by how much resistance there was.

I caught the string between my thumb and forefinger and held it out so I could see it.

And then I was surprised by what it looked like. It was swollen, very dark red, with a shiny coating of vaginal mucus.

This was the first time, of course, I had seen one of her used tampons.

"Okay, Pervert," she said, giggling, "flush that and get back in here."

I grinned at her, held the bloody thing to my nose, and inhaled deeply.

She rolled her eyes and giggled.

Then she parted her legs, pulled her knees back until they almost touched her nipples, and said, "Flush that, Honey," she said, "I've got plenty of fresh for you. Turns out, I enjoy this almost as much as you do."

I went into the bathroom, dropped the Tampon into the toilet, and then watched, fascinated, as red slowly diffused into the water.

I peed quickly, washed my hands, and went back into the bedroom.

She hadn't moved and her flow was heavy enough that a small red wet spot had formed under where her inner lips hung loose. As I watched, a drop formed and grew. It wasn't like she had been cut and was bleeding. It was more like the thick honey of her arousal dyed red. I couldn't look away as I got my shirt off, kicked off my shoes, loosened my belt, unbuttoned and unzipped my jeans, and pushed them down.

I crawled up onto the bed and caught that thick red string on my tongue. There was the coppery taste of blood, but that was only part of it. There was salty, oily mucus, but that was only part of it. I didn't know any of this, that first time, but I've studied since. The scent and the taste that was overwhelming me was the blood-rich endometrial lining of her uterus. The lavish mixture of hormones was what had me down at the brain stem level.

Like old Fred the mutt in full rut, I don't think I could have stopped myself from going down on her if I wanted to.

And I did not want to.

And she, manifestly, did not want me to stop.

She was using her fingertips to open herself, offer herself.

And I took what she offered hungrily. Greedily.

I licked and then sucked, drawing those big, dangling inner lips into my mouth and sucking, feeling them swell as her hips rocked and then thrust and then bucked with her sudden release.

I drank deeply of her pleasure and when she came a second time, more powerfully, I bathed my face and hair in her, that atavistic scent holding me helpless.

My mind never fully turned off. It's a weird thing, my mind.

It was interesting, I thought, that I had no particular urge to put my erection into her. Oh, don't get me wrong. I was so hard I ached. I was throbbing. But between those pheromones and the exotic taste of the hormone-rich discharge, it was the oral sex that I wanted.

And I took what I wanted until she was exhausted, kind of whimpering, "Enough, God. Baby, Enough."

I released her and, finally, replaced the Tampon before scooting around and taking her nipple into my mouth.

Her thick, rich milk washed away the taste in my mouth, and I missed it. But I suckled because I enjoy the comfort of nursing along with the taste of her.

I'm not sure how long I nursed before she broke my latch, kissed my forehead leaving a red smear on her lips, and said, "Lay back, Honey. Your turn."

I accepted the gentle pressure she put on my arm and laid back, my head on the pillow, relaxed.

And still erect.

She squirmed around and took me into her mouth.

And then I learned that I wasn't the only one who enjoyed testing limits.

My bride is an artist with her mouth and tongue. She took me to the edge and held me there until I was squirming and breathing a soft "Please."

Then she released me with her mouth and used her hand to finish me.

But at the final instant, when my body answered evolution's call to send my sperm deep into my mate, she pinched hard at the base of my erection, stopping my ejaculation.

The mixture of pleasure and pain was amazing. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't relax. My body strained to do what it had to do, and the way she had me pinched denied its need.

The immediate need passed, finally, and I relaxed.

And she had me in her mouth before my deep breath was finished.

She did that for an hour, taking me to completion and denying my finish while saying nothing.

I don't know how many times she did it. By the time she finally finished me and didn't clamp down to deny my ejaculation, I was a quivering bundle of twitching nerves. At one point both of my thighs cramped and she wouldn't release my cock until I relaxed and then she helped straighten my legs and then dig out the cramp. As soon as I relaxed, she had me back in her mouth.

When she finally finished me I came in a blast that sent hot semen past my head onto the pillow. A second contraction sent a jet that hit my chin. And then I just started flowing as she continued very gently stroking me. Before she released me, the puddle had filled my belly button and was overflowing my belly, running down to pool on the top sheet.

She giggled, softly, as she squirmed up to lay next to me, kissing me softly before offering her breast. I nursed, contentedly, drinking her milk as she lightly stroked my arm.

"You, my dear, are special," she said softly.

And that is how her menstrual cycle went. For some reason, she didn't want vaginal sex but she sure did like my mouth. And she reciprocated, her educated mouth and that ridiculous thumb and forefinger tormenting me but giving me release beyond anything I had known.

I would wake in the morning, pull her tampon with my teeth, give her at least three orgasms, be tormented for a while, shower, and do my classes. Home for lunch I'd change her tampon, bring her to orgasm, and then take care of the house if I didn't have a class.

When I removed her tampon at bedtime on the fourth day, it was white, and I missed her scent.

But I liked, very much, the way she wanted vaginal sex.

She mounted me, cowgirl style, and rode me through three orgasms until we were both sweat-soaked and she threw her head back, her mouth wide open in a silent scream, her face twisted in that beautiful rictus of her release.

After I came and slipped out she leaned forward, brushing her nipple against my lips until I latched on.

When I latched on she made a soft "mooing" sound and I got the giggles.

I looked up and she was scowling.

"Did I say something funny?" she asked and the tone of her voice made me think she was being serious.

"No," I said, and latched on.

I nursed and got hard again, almost laughed but stifled it when she moved, took my fresh erection into her body, and made that "mooing" sound very loudly.

I rubbed her back as she rode me, keeping her back arched. I kept suckling and she kept mooing softly.

She came, wetly, and I squeezed the soft roll of her back, just above her ass.

"Stay with me," she said, her hips still moving.

I squeezed again, this time lower, squeezing the big muscles of her ass, spreading them in that way I knew she liked.

"Stay with me," she said again, her hips moving a little faster, the angle changing slightly, the pressure on my erection changing subtly.

I sucked harder, and squeezed harder, moving my legs to lock our bodies together, our legs entwined now.

"Stay with me," she gasped, her body moving in that boneless, sinuous way only a few lucky women can pull off.

She groaned when I bit down on her nipple and shuddered when I moved my hands deeper into her gluteal cleft and let my fingertips find that puckered little orifice that I knew she enjoyed having played with.

"STAY," gasp, "WITH," gasp, "MEEE!!" she cried.

My fingertips pulled her open then and she came, a powerful gush of her love nectar soaking us both.

"Again," I said, my fingertips pulling, holding her open, my mouth sucking hard, drinking that thick, sweet milk.

"Jesussssssssssssssssss," she hissed, her back arching, cumming in a second wave.

"Okay," I said, releasing her with my fingertips, "relax now."

It was like her bones dissolved suddenly. Suddenly I was carrying her weight. I loved the way the softness of her belly kind of engulfed me, the way her heavy legs seemed to melt against me, the way her ass felt under my hand as I just held her now, no longer squeezing.

And I was still hard and inside of her.

"God I love you," she breathed very softly.

She slept then, her weight now a deadweight, and I loved it.

When I started to soften and slip out she woke, smiled, and lifted off of me.

"Make love to me," she said.

So I did. I rolled her onto her back and claimed her, missionary position, covering her face with kisses, and setting up a slow rhythm.

She came, twice before my control failed and I came with her the third time.

The next morning we started on her "preparation" protocol.