Virile

He would be here any moment. I felt that familiar frisson of excitement I got before I saw him, the sort of butterflies you got in your stomach when your car took an unexpected bump in the road. I was waiting outside number 39 Everglade Road, a house that was another jewel in the crown of he and his fathers' property development legacy. It was beautiful, even from the outside, detached and set back from the road by a large driveway, the front door flanked by pillars.

I gave myself a quick once-over in the large window beside the door. I looked good. My blonde hair was down, curled. My figure looked neat in a pale blue silk blouse, a form-fitting grey pencil skirt and black stiletto heels, which matched the black folio I carried. There were tasteful diamante studs in my lobes, which matched the pendant on my necklace.

I heard the sound of a car pulling up behind me. I looked round; his Audi parked neatly behind my Mini and he got out, smiling at me. God, he looked good. His dark hair was shorn close to his head; he wore dark Raybans. We'd inadvertently matched; the pale blue of his shirt was similar to the blue of my blouse. He'd matched the brown of his belt to the colour of his unscuffed shoes.

"Hi," he said, drawing close.

"Long time no see," I said, returning his smile.

"I know, business has been nuts," he replied. "But this place is finally finished. I've been dying to show you."

The house was stunning, as I knew it would be. He and his father specialised in premium products that drew a premium price; no detail went overlooked, nothing went unfinished. I followed him around the living room, the spacious kitchen, the four bedrooms, taking notes in my folio as I went. I worked as an estate agent; it was my job to report back on the house so that it could be put onto the market for an accurate sum.

"And the pièce de résistance," he said, showing me into the main suite. It was an enormous room, with an en suite shower room, a walk-in wardrobe and a balcony terrace which looked out onto the vast back lawn. He walked me out onto the balcony into the sunshine. As I looked out over the balustrades, he finally ran his palm down my back.

"God, I've missed you," he said, and with that he bent down and kissed me deeply, hungrily. I kissed back, feeling myself already getting wet just from that alone. He turned me around so I faced away from him, looking out onto the lawn, and then he pulled my skirt up and tugged my g-string down over my thighs.

"So fucking sexy," he said, using his palm to open up my ass cheek a little so he could see more of me. He seemed impatient this time around, even more so than usual; he didn't even pull down his trousers or boxers, just unzipped and pulled his hard cock out.

I loved his cock; it was so smooth and beautiful. It wasn't the biggest I'd ever had, but there was something to be said for a good-looking one. He tested me with his fingers, finding my pussy wet, and then he pushed himself inside me and fucked me hard and fast. He came quickly, and it just kept coming; he was filling my pussy with masses of warm semen. He moaned loudly, satisfied, before pulling out; his cum started dripping out down my thighs.

"Sorry that was quick, but I needed that," he said, turning me round and kissing me again. I smiled.

"Me too," I replied. I looked down at the mess he'd made of my thighs. I chuckled. "I'm gonna have to go in there and clean up," I said, gesturing to the ensuite.

He laughed. "Yeah, I think that's for the best."

Thankfully, I'd had the foresight to pack my handbag with tissues and baby wipes. I straddled the toilet, trying desperately not to drip anywhere or get anything in this pristine house dirty, and cleaned myself up as best as I could. As I washed my hands, I heard his phone ringing in the bedroom outside.

"Hi babe," he said into his phone as I exited the bathroom. He grimaced at me, pulling a face and rolling his eyes, trying to demonstrate how little he'd wanted to take the phone call. He listened to whatever she was saying on the other end.

"Yeah, alright, I can go to Waitrose on my way home," he said. "What are you thinking, just burgers and sausages, burger buns, things like that?" He listened again for a moment. "And salad. Ok then, I'll see you in a bit."

He shut off his phone and looked at me. "The girlfriend wants to throw a spontaneous barbecue for the neighbours," he said.

I shrugged. "It's the weather for it."

I knew of her existence, of course. I knew he'd been with her since school, that her father was a wealthy farmer and landowner. I'd looked them all up on FaceBook. She was surprisingly plain, in my opinion, to be with such a good-looking man; her hair was a mousy blonde, which hung unstyled to her shoulders. She didn't seem to worry herself much with makeup or fashion.

It's not that I didn't feel guilty when I fucked him. It's just that I didn't think about her at all. I didn't feel that I owed her any loyalty; I didn't know her, had never met her, and if she had the poor judgment to be with a man who strayed then that was on her. He was too much of a good shag to give up, and this way it was easy; just sex, with no messy feelings or emotions on either side.

He gave me one last hungry kiss, his hands moving over my body, caressing my curves. "Right, I'd best be going," he said.

"Me too," I replied, "I need to get back to work."

I followed him back down the large, beautiful staircase, waited with him whilst he locked the front door.

"I hope the house will get a good write-up?" he said, with an impish grin.

"Absolutely," I said, smiling back. We gave one final wave and got into our cars; I watched as he drove away.

I started my car up and turned on Radio 1, loud. There was a summery pop song playing, and I drove with the windows down, the breeze blowing my hair around my face. I felt alive.

*****

I sat on the toilet, holding the little test beneath me as I peed. It had been a month since I'd seen him, and in that time I'd skipped a period. I was starting to wonder.

As I got up and left the test on the side of the sink, I examined myself in the mirror. I still looked as pretty as ever. My full lips were pink and my cheeks were rosy. Everything seemed to glow a little more. Was that a sign of pregnancy, or was it just that I was happy? I looked at my body, clad in just a bra and thong. It still looked neat, slim. There was nothing about it that was different whatsoever.

But those two little lines appeared on the test, and I knew what that meant. I looked at it without emotion, mostly just preoccupied with what this now meant for me and him. I went to my bed, threw myself down and pulled my laptop towards me. The bare soles of my feet hit my ass cheeks and I lay on my stomach and swung my legs back and forth, typing his name into FaceBook.

There he was. His profile picture was of himself on a boat, his arms slung across the back of his seat. I perused a few of his profile pictures; none of her and him. To look at him you'd be hard-pressed to even tell he was in a relationship.

Except there it was, the first post as I scrolled down. A joke post, a novelty engagement announcement. 'Shotgun wedding', it was captioned, a mockingly sepia picture of her and him, with her dad in the background, holding his farmer's gun and looking glaringly at the two of them. She was noticeably pregnant.

'The secret's out!' the post read. 'Please come and join us for our wedding reception at the Farnham Hotel on the 7th of July. Buffet is at 7.30, party starts straight after. Wear your best glad rags and come and celebrate us becoming mum and dad as well as husband and wife!'

I felt very little reaction to the double-whammy news that they were both expectant and engaged. In this day and age, that didn't really mean much; people ran out on marriages and children all the time. Still, I felt the need to see them together, to assess the situation so that I could figure out what to do for myself. I picked up my phone and booked a room at the Farnham hotel for the seventh of July.

When the day came, I still wasn't showing. My figure was as slender as ever. I dressed in a red velvet form-fitting dress with a sweetheart neckline. I accessorised it with a slash of red lipstick. Then I got into the Uber I'd pre-ordered and made my way over to the hotel. I checked in, took my small suitcase up to my room with me. I hadn't brought much, just the essentials for one night. I made my way down to the hotel's banquet room, where the party was in full swing.

He saw me as soon as I walked in. He blanched, but he still couldn't seem to resist giving my body a full-length, longing gaze. He came marching over and hissed in a low voice, "What the fuck are you doing here?" He saw someone new walk in, assumed a more friendly expression, gave them a little wave before turning back to me.

"You put the invitation on FaceBook, I assumed it was for all of your friends on there," I said simply.

"This is my fucking wedding, are you mental?" he muttered. "Who wants the girl they're shagging to turn up at their wedding?"

"Careful now, don't give yourself away," I replied. He shook his head in disgust.

"If you cause any sort of problem tonight I'll tell everyone you're some sort of weird stalker and I only know you from work," he threatened, and with that he walked away, back to his bride. I could assess her in person now. She wore a slightly shapeless wedding dress, which fit snugly over her large bump. She ate a slice of wedding cake and talked animatedly to a friend. I decided to approach.

"Congratulations," I said to her. In my peripheral vision, he looked like he was about to faint. "You look beautiful."

"Oh, thank you," she replied, looking slightly bemused at the interruption. Her voice was posh, plummy. "I'm sorry, I don't think we've met?"

"I'm Anya," I said. "I work at Leder and Leder? I sell Richie's houses for him."

"Oh, nice!" she replied, then she looked over at Richie. He plastered a quick smile onto his face. "Well, it's lovely to meet you," she said. "Thank you for coming." With that she turned back to her friend and resumed her conversation. I had been dismissed.

I smiled smugly at him and walked away, out of the banquet hall. I could feel his eyes on the back of my figure in my red dress.

Back in my room, I changed into my pale blue silk negligee. I had a gut feeling, and I just knew he would prove me right. I heard a knock on my door and went to look through the peep hole. There he was. I knew him too well.

I opened the door. "Shouldn't you be at your wedding reception?" I said.

"They'll be partying for hours," he said. "They won't miss me. Can I come in?"

I stepped back and let him enter the room. I locked the door behind us.

"I can't believe you came to this," he said. "That's fucked up."

He put one hand beneath my chin, tilted my head up.

"It turns me on," he muttered, and he kissed me.

"Lay down on the bed," I said, pulling away from the kiss. "It's your wedding night. I need to give you your present."

He lay down and I unzipped his dark blue trousers, pulled his beautiful cock out. He moaned as I put it in my mouth, deep throating him as I gazed up into his eyes. He wound his hand into my hair and used it to push my head up and down, making me take him deep into my throat. When he finally came I swallowed it down.

"Fuck," he said, throwing his head back. "That was good."

"You still gonna be able to perform for your new bride?" I asked.

"She won't want it anyway. She's been so boring since she's been pregnant," he replied, zipping his fly back up. "Sometimes I can't believe this is my life."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Marriage, kids. I never really thought I'd do that. I especially didn't think I'd be doing that at twenty-eight. But somehow the years have flown by and... here I am."

He stood up to leave.

"Well, you have me," I said. "I'm sure I'll keep wanting to be fucked by you as long as you keep wanting to fuck me."

He bent down and kissed me. "Thanks, babe," he said. He looked me straight. "There's something special about you, isn't there?"

I smiled, and he made his way out. I snapped the lock on the door closed behind him.

*****

I finished the final curl on my head, then gave it a spritz of hairspray. Topping up my dusky pink lipstick, I assessed myself in the mirror. I looked pretty, feminine. I wore a sheer pink balconette bra with matching g string, and a red silk robe over the top. I was starting to show, a tiny bump the only outward demonstration that I was pregnant. So far I had stayed tight everywhere else.

I picked up my phone, angled it towards the mirror. Turning at an angle so as to best showcase the bump, I snapped a picture and took a look at the screen. Beautiful. I looked beautiful.

'I'm pregnant, and it's yours x' I texted, and I sent him the picture. Within seconds he was calling me, but I ignored it. Going to the kitchen, I poured myself a glass of wine and decided to wait him out. It didn't take long. There was a knock on the door of my flat within fifteen minutes.

"What the fuck are you sending me that for?" he said, as soon as I opened the door.

"I thought you'd want to know," I replied, simply.

"When..." he began, in a cynical tone.

"At Everglade, on the balcony."

He stopped short, exhaled. "I want a paternity test."

"Fine."

He pushed me back against the wall, looked at me in my lingerie. "You cause me so much trouble, you know that?"

"I know."

We fucked on my bed, my legs on his strong shoulders, him careful not to lean on my stomach. When we were done, he lay beside me and played with a strand of my hair.

"This is gonna cause such a fucking fall out," he said, flatly.

"How is it? She doesn't have to know."

He pushed himself up onto one elbow. "What do you mean?"


"I'll get the test, prove you're the father. Your name doesn't have to go on the birth certificate. Just pay me a monthly allowance and I'll raise the child. You can be as involved as you like." I traced my fingers along the length of his cock. "We can even keep up our little... arrangement. If you like."

He sighed, his shoulders falling in what I felt was relief. His fingers traced my bump. "You hardly look pregnant."

I smiled. "I know. I look good, don't I?"

He put the palm of his hand against my cheek. "You always do."