Title: Conception
Author: Sara
Keywords: Fm impreg cheat



Desire! Desire! I have too, dearly bought With price of mangled
mind thy worthless ware, Too long, too long, asleep thou hast me
brought, Who shouldst my mind to higher things prepare.  --
Philip Sidney

--------------

So he's sixteen.

Weirder things have happened.

So I'm married.

Nothing new about cheating.

So he's my daughter's boyfriend.

Yeah.  I know.

How did I get here?

Lately, I've loved watching her around Caleb.  He's got this
black hair that falls into his blue eyes, and they light up when
she kisses him and falls into his lap, chattering on about her
day.  He never looks at me then.  He's intent on her.    When
we're alone, or in a stolen moment when everyone else is laughing
in the other room and he's offered (the good boyfriend) to help
with dishes, he whispers, "I can't get my mind off of you," and I
am shaking.

Then she comes in, eyes bright with her young desire.  My rival.
Some kind spirit lets me see twenty years down the road when he's
planted behind the newspaper (will he keep that lean cornerback's
body?  I wonder) and she chatters and chatters.

Oh, Erin, I want to tell her.  You're so innocent.

So in love.

With good reason, though you have no idea how good.

At first I felt guilty watching them together, her hair auburn
like mine but cut short, his fingers running through it.  I
imagine all mothers look at their daughters and fondly remember
their own sixteen year old bodies: but I'm alright with that.
I've kept trim, through a mixture of good habits and excellent
genes.  I never felt jealous: he's told me over and over they've
never fucked.  And she, who tells me everything, says they
haven't, but she says she's ready.  She's asked me if I'd be
angry.

"Not so much worry," I told her with a kiss on her cheek.
"Caleb's crazy about you.  Who wouldn't be?  You take after me."

And Erin rolls her eyes, laughs, and kisses me back.

But I felt guilty.  After that first time when he had to miss
practice and came by the house, and we talked in the kitchen like
friends, but his eyes were so intense.

 "You seem sad today, Kelly.  Something in your eyes."  When was
the last time a man hit on me by talking about my mood?  Was he
hitting on me?  I was so taken aback I turned away from him.

I shouldn't have done that.  When I turned again his eyes were
hungry on my body, then quickly chained behind the cheerful
intelligent kindness, but not before I saw it.

My daughter's boyfriend wanted me.

That night she tossed little rolled up pills of bread across the
table at him, talking to him as girls talk to boys.  I almost
couldn't bear it.  The guilt, the feeling I was betraying my own
daughter.  He was careful to show nothing except once, when once,
standing to walk to the refrigerator for ice, his eyes locked on
mine, and when he passed behind my chair, his fingers brushed my
neck.   The smallest of touches, and I was lost.  What had I
done?

Because in that split second before he hid away his feelings he
had made me more wet than I'd been in years.  I wanted him to
hold me.  I wanted his voice to whisper in my ear.

I wanted to turn him on.  I wanted to tease him, lead him on and
then I wanted my daughter's cornerback to fuck me, eye to eye,
lip to lip.

And as I masturbated in the shower that night I thought that he
took me, and I remember trembling, sinking to the tile floor with
the water beating down on me, and whispering, "I can do things to
you that Erin can't do."  Was this me?  My fingers on my pussy
were frantic.  I was betraying her.  Jesus: it made me feel
alive.  "She can be your wife.  I'll be the one who never says
no."  I was coming.  "Come on my face, Caleb.  Make me your
bitch."

I wanted this boy.

Because of Erin, we went to the games.  That first time, when the
Warriors played their Jamboree, we climbed into the stands.  Erin
in her cheerleader's uniform led us up to Caleb's parents and
introduced us.

My husband, the bond-broker, charms everybody.  He made friends
with them quickly and easily: his father is a machinist of some
kind, his mother has a look of perpetual wonder on her face,
though I can't see where it comes from.

"Caleb loves you," she said cryptically.  Jesus.  Why do I have
to blush?  My skin is pale, Irish.  I doubted it was dark enough
to mask it.

"He's a wonderful kid," I said with the practiced detached
admiration which mothers use when they talk about other peoples'
kids.  My heart was pounding.

"Yes," she said.  Her eyes seemed to drift away from me, from the
field, out of the universe.  Andrew was making small-talk about
business with Caleb's taciturn father, and that was an act of
wringing blood from a stone.

That night Andrew fucked me furiously.  I was thinking of Caleb.
Him standing by Erin before the game.  His leap in the last
quarter to bat away a reception.  Him.  Standing in my kitchen
behind me, undressing me with his eyes.  I was so wet.

Sex seems so strange when you are in love with someone else.  It
feels desperate.

I covered it well, I think.  "Why so eager?  I'm not
complaining."

Andrew had his own secrets, I suppose.  "All that football, the
cheerleaders, the smell of early autumn," he said.   I could feel
his semen slipping from my pussy.  It felt slimy, strange, an
alien thing.  Strange or too familiar, I don't know which.

"Dirty old man," I chastened him lightly.

"Guilty as charged," he said, and kissed me lightly.

He is a good man.  I felt guilty.

I hadn't done anything.

But that was only because I hadn't had the chance, and I knew it.

It was the next day, a Saturday, when he came to me.  Not to
Erin.  She had a fundraiser for the cheerleaders.  Andrew had
flown out that morning to stand in a wedding.

When I opened the door and saw him there, his eyes were bright,
wide open, beautiful.  He wore a white oxford shirt and jeans.

"Hi," he said.  Nervous almost.  A young god unsure of how to
begin.

"Come in," I said.  I wished I had on something besides jeans and
a cotton top.  It wasn't that I looked bad: but I wanted to be
beautiful for him, no matter why he was here.  I wanted him to
think of me.  I wanted him to remember me.  I wanted to be sex to
him.

"You know what?" he said.  "I just remembered Erin's at the
car-wash.  I'm sorry to have bugged you."  It was clumsy, but it
was a question.  I answered.

"No, Don't go.  I like having you around," I said.  That was an
understatement.  I thought I could smell him, a clean masculine
scent.

"I like it too."  He was actually shaking a little.

"Caleb," I said.  Not passionately.  I tried to keep it light.

But somehow there in my living room behind the locked door and
curtained windows I was in his arms, and it felt like my body was
dissolving against him.  It was comfortable, as though I belonged
there.  It was terribly erotic just to touch my face to his neck,
but when I did he breathed deeply, still shaking, but strong.  He
turned my face up to his, and he kissed me.

And there with my daughter's cornerback's tongue in my mouth, I
was wet, trembling, and lost.

He pulled away and looked at me with an intensity and hunger I'd
only caught that one glimpse of.  "Kelly," he breathed.  "I want
you.  I want to taste you."

Jesus, I thought.  There is a devil after all, and he taught this
child how to talk to me.  But there was no question: I knew I was
wrong, knew it was treachery, that it could cost me my family,
but I knew that if I didn't plumb the depths of this pleasure I
would hate myself forever after.  And so I summoned my courage,
and I breathed deeply, and said, "You will, Caleb.  You'll taste
me, and I'll taste you, and you're going to come in my mouth, and
in my pussy, and in my ass, and I'm going to love you fervently
with my body and my heart and my mind."

His hand was around my breast, his fingers unfastening my blouse
with the deftest movements, slipping into my bra.  My shirt was
half-falling from my shoulders.  My hands were trembling as I
found the fastenings of his jeans, one went to that long dark
hair and one held the cock that I knew was going to be the one
stable point in a world that had just spun far, far out of
balance.

That night I told him to stay for dinner.  I felt guilty,
confused, passionate, full of love and lust.  But mostly I just
wanted him close to me.  I told him I knew how he felt about
Erin, that nothing we did changed that.  He seemed grateful.  I
knew he would be.  I had resolved to give him everything.

Before dinner I put on a black skirt that came to my knees.  Erin
and I have very nice legs.  I would later remind Caleb that she
got hers from me, not the other way around.  But tonight I wanted
him to remember mine had been wrapped around him for five hours
that day as he fucked me in the bed I shared with my husband.  I
wore a black bra and a green linen top that was loose around the
top.  As we heard Erin pull into the driveway in her Jeep
Wrangler, I gave him a last kiss and whispered, "I can still
taste you in my mouth, Caleb."

He ran his fingers through my hair and held me like a man
claiming a woman. "I can taste you.  I can smell you on my
fingers.   I love you, and you're never leaving me."  He kissed
me again, and I tasted my pussy on his lips.  His come was still
coating my tongue as I poured a glass of wine and sipped it.

Erin came in the door.  Caleb was sitting on the couch. Innocent.
 If she smelled sex on her boyfriend and mother, she didn't know
enough to put it all together.  She went straight to him with a
distracted, "Hey, mom!" and sat in his lap wearily and kissed him
deeply.

That was the night I felt a little guilty.  My daughter tasting
the lips that had brought me to four orgasms, touching her tongue
to his that had been so magical on my clitoris, and had slipped
into my pussy over and over.

Sitting in that lap where I had been two hours earlier, riding
him hard, kissing him, as he put it, like a lover and a best
friend.

Oh, Erin, I thought.  Beloved daughter.

I have fucked your boy, and he is mine, and his semen is in me
now, and I have never been so full as when your cornerback took
me hard from behind and held me by my hair and wouldn't let me go
and whispered his brutal, tender love for me while his cock
touched my cervix and his tanned muscled arms wrapped me so
tightly that I never will be free again.

But soon the guilt left me, and we were careful, giddy, drunk on
secrets.  I leaned in towards my daughter, teasingly, a best
friend and traitor.  She laughed with me while I wrapped myself
in a glorious hypocrisy.

From that night on, Caleb was my lover.  We fucked often,
sometimes dangerously.  He brought me to orgasm with his tongue
once, my black cocktail dress lifted around my waist, in a
secluded high school classroom the night of the Boosters banquet.
 That night we sat at a table with Erin and my husband and he had
my black thong in his pocket.

He met me in the deserted choir room of the Episcopalian church
one Sunday morning during the homily and sent me down to
Eucharist with his semen still warm and alive between my labia, a
pearly silver magical thing.

Once the flu kept him from a week of practice, and so he was on
the sidelines that Friday as the band blared away and the crowd
cheered the team.  I felt like a girl in love watching him there
on the sidelines walking along the bench, encouraging his team,
standing by the coach, talking to the boy who played in his
position.  He was in jeans and his jersey.  He saw me make my way
down the stands and towards the high school, and I sucked him
there against the gym wall in the dark November night.

One night we managed to give the slip to our obligations, and I
met him in the dark woods on the far side of the football field
after the game.  I kissed him wickedly, and dropped to my knees
and found my way through the buckles and laces of his football
pants, and took his lovely cock into my mouth.  I remember that
time most, perhaps because he smelled of sweat and dirt and
grass.  He smelled, I thought, like a man might have smelled in
some primeval time, and when he came in my mouth and kissed me,
and his semen was smeared on our tongues, salty and heavy, he was
hard again and fucked me in the woods.  That night I had to
contrive to fall in our swimming pool on the way in to the house,
for Caleb's scent was on my clothes, in my hair, in my mouth, and
my pussy.

We fucked in Erin's bed when she was at a cheer retreat.  He came
on my face, in my ass.  I was his whore and his lover.  He came
to me once when I left town to visit a friend, and in Destin,
Florida, in a hotel by the beach I told him I wanted him to come
all over me.  He raped me, he made love to me, he was gentle.  He
talked to me, made me his best friend.  I wouldn't shower until
he had painted me with his pearly drops and spread them over my
face and breast and legs with his magnificent cock.

We talked, often.  He is brilliant, and he says that my mind and
my conversation turn him on as much as anything.  We found early
that reading to each other was foreplay.   I have fucked him with
a book on the pillow beside us, discarded, more times than I can
count.

I'm writing this because he told me tonight that Erin wants sex
soon.  She is sure.  Erin has told me the same thing.  I ask him
what he wants.  He moves in me a little, his cock hard and thick
and worthy of all my worship.

"I want what's best for us," he says, not pausing or missing one
long slow stroke.

I can't really speak.  He is touching a spot in me now that he
knows, that no other man ever touched, and I am close to coming.

I look into those blue eyes.

I tell him, "If you come in me now, you will make me pregnant."


He slows, but he is not uncertain.  He pauses, and a ghost of a
smile crosses his lips.  God, those lips, and what they do to me.

He bends down and kisses me, takes my legs in his hand and
spreads them even further.

"Tonight," he whispers into my ear as he lies on me, "I want to
give Erin a sister as beautiful as you are.  She'll be my sister
in law one of these days."

I am not jealous.  He is telling me what I know.  Erin can have
his body.  I have his soul.

"I want you to come in me.  Will you love me?"

"I love you forever.  I want you."

I make the decision.

"Fuck her."

There.  I said it.  Fuck my daughter.  Give her a  rich happy lie
so you can be near me.

I say it again, this time with a cruelty in my voice: "Fuck her."
 Take your virgin sacrifice, and, God damn but I want to hold
your cock and drive it into her and hear her scream when it tears
her.  I want you to fuck her until she weeps.

Then quietly, gently, my fingers in his hair.  "Fuck her, my
love."

"For us," he says.

"Yeah."

"Do you know how beautiful you are when you come?"

He has me close to coming now.

I am barely breathing.  "Tell me."

He tells me, a young god sure of himself and his words.  My body
is shaking.

"Our baby?" I whisper to him.

His smile is like a sudden burst of sun.

"She'll be beautiful like you."

"Beautiful like you," I correct him.  I can barely breathe.  I
can feel my abdomen trembling.  His cock touches our spot, the
one he knows how to find that Andrew never came near.

"Kelly," he whispers, and his voice is low and deep.  Erin and
Andrew are sleeping upstairs.

He comes in me.


  
Conception