Turnabout Pt. 12

Sometime between finishing the second bottle and halfway through the third, I remembered how I had set up the motel room for the "throwback evening" that I planned on spending with my wife. Recapturing our high school dating days. Instead, Marie and her date would assume that I had set this up for them. Talk about cringeworthy! That called for one big chug, thus killing bottle number three.

I guess the alcohol was starting to take hold because I hardly remember drinking the fourth beer or opening the fifth.

With bottle in hand, I aimlessly wandered out into the backyard. Mind you, the only thing I was wearing was what Marie had told me to put on before she left: a pair of the super-sheer nylon panties. Other than that, I was barefoot and naked. But what the heck. It was well past ten o'clock, and everything out there was pitch black. Surely, no one else was outside, so what difference did it make how I was dressed?

Wouldn't you know, in my drunkenness when exiting the house, I neglected to flip the switch on the motion detector lights. Yup! There I was. Out in the center of the yard when... BAM! On came three big floodlights!

The suddenness of the yard going from dark to light scared the piss out of me. Literally! And once it started, I couldn't stop it. I was so drunk that I had little control over basic bodily functions. After four-and-a-half bottles of beer, I just stood there in the middle of my backyard, pissing like a racehorse. The sheerness of the panties did little to hold anything back -- aside from splintering the stream into multiple smaller streams. Several of which shot halfway up my chest before the pee trickled down, further coating my belly and soaking the panties before running down my legs.

Relieving my bladder felt so good, and doing it in the great outdoors seemed so rebellious that I didn't dare do anything the prevent this from continuing. The hot piss on my chilled skin felt so good I even leaned back some so more of it would splash on me. It felt that good.

It was too late to even care if anyone had looked out and seen me or not. I was on my own property, so to hell with them!

The beers had gotten me so numb and bloated that showering off without falling was a struggle. That didn't prevent me from wishing that I had never promised anything about not jerking off or having orgasms without Marie's permission. In my inebriated condition, I'd of sworn that my prostate felt like it was backed up with a gallon of jizz just waiting for release. Suddenly, one of those random, unplanned, and unrelated thoughts caused me to shout out. "I FUCKING DID IT AGAIN!!!"

From out of the blue, I had remembered something that, needless to say, had a sobering effect. There still remained one question that should have been first and foremost on my mind. A crucial question that somehow got pushed aside and buried behind all the other, more thrilling things to think about. "I never asked Marie if she was fertile!" I mentally kicked myself for not asking when I had the chance. Did she know if she was ovulating??? Was she even keeping track of her cycles? After all, she hadn't needed to do that since my vasectomy 7 years ago.

I knew that I had no recollection of when she had her last period and thus had no clue if this was 'danger time.' The only thing I was sure of was that my wife was not on the pill and presumably not any other form of birth control either. Why would she be? For more than seven years, we'd been safe from pregnancy. I was sterile and the only one filling her pussy with cum.

That is, until tonight.

It was now nearing midnight, and since Marie had not returned home, I could only surmise that her date was going as intended. This meant that at that very moment, there was every reason to believe that my wife's pussy had already been filled with another man's sperm-rich semen. Unless this guy was also using condoms, millions of his little swimmers had flooded her womb, each seeking an egg to inseminate.

Although the shower was hot, my body shivered at the thought that when my wife returned home, she could have been impregnated by another man. Some stranger that Marie had never met before last night. Yet this guy may well be fathering a child with my wife!

So, yes. I was not feeling nearly as drunk and carefree as I had been moments earlier. What I was feeling instead were pangs of jealousy towards this guy. That was immediately followed by weird tingles of excitement. Visions of my wife's belly swelling once again as she carried another man's baby in her womb brought my erection right back to full attention. Suddenly I was excited by the prospect of living with and sleeping next to the woman I love, as day by day, her belly expanded once again. This time with a baby not of my doing.

Should that happen, it would provide undeniable evidence to family and friends that I was a cuckold. But not just any cuckold. Any man's wife who carries and births a different man's baby has taken cuckolding to the next level.

Standing by her would make me an "Ultimate Cuckold!"

-- End of Part 12 --