Title: Finale 
Author: Sara 
Keywords: MF cheat impreg



When they arrive, I kiss Lisa on the cheek, and we smile about
the rough trip.  She goes looking for Dave, my husband, her
brother.  He is chasing their children up the drive, carrying an
overnight bag: beautiful children, like him, curly-haired and
green-eyed.

I hate how much I want him.

When he sees me, his eyes are suddenly solemn, joyful, and his
eyes scan my body.  We don't say a word yet: but mine tell him,
"Yes, I wore the summer dress that shows my legs for you, and
beneath it my panties are lacy and flimsy, and you won't even
have to take them off to eat me and fuck me."  I imagine all
this: his face shows nothing, but his eyes are telling me what I
want to know.  I wonder if anyone is watching me, and I feel my
pale skin blushing.

Suddenly conscious of the eyes of others, we hug, and I say
ironically, "Been a long time, stranger."

"Not long enough," he answers with a wink.  We have always
sparred like this.  I have his favorite whiskey on hand and pour
him a glass, warm, the way he likes it.  "Drink this.  Then go
driving."

"Whore," he answers laconically, sips, and takes another long
look at me. We have read books to each other, have wept with one
another.  We are talkers, he and I.  We have earned the right to
say nothing.

Around us the relatives are arriving.  They are here for the
night.

We are all eating on the deck by the channel where we could hear
the water of the Gulf of Mexico lapping against the fiberglass
side of the boat, if it were quiet enough.  But there is a great
deal of laughter, and too much talk.  I watch him in khaki shorts
and a white linen shirt, talking to my kids, who adore him.  I
think I can smell him, clean and masculine.  Dave is tugging my
arm, a little drunk.  "Sneak away?" he asks.

We do.  I can't get my mind off of my brother in law, though, and
as my husband devotedly but clumsily makes love to me, I am
thinking what it is like to make love with someone over and over
again.  Marriage is not love-less.  It is just what it is.  And
sometimes it feels like the worst sort of torture to be just bad
enough to desire someone else, and not evil enough to leave the
ones to whom you owe your small life.

Who knows.  Others can do it.  I could, if I believed in it
strongly enough.  I keep thinking of him with his kids, happy in
his arms or chasing him across our lawn, tumbling into bed so he
can keep away monsters in the dark of their aunt's strange house.

No, I think.  I could never take him from that.

But I have held his cock in my hand, and it is beautiful, smooth
and long and straight and thick.  I have held it in my mouth and
looked up at him with lustful eyes and told him, "Come in my
mouth.  I want you to."

And as my husband comes in me, grunting, a little drunk, I am
almost crying.

Later, Dave is passed out, sleeping in our bed.  I am on the deck
of the boat, watching the silver shards dancing on the water of
the channel.  I don't know where his wife is.  His tall slender
figure is coming towards me across the boards.

We sit next to each other without speaking for the longest time.
His kiss is sad, and without any words at all, I am on my hands
and knees for him, and he is inside me, pulling me up, back to
him so I am kneeling with him behind me, and his cock finds
places inside me I never knew were there before he fucked me.

He slows, almost stops.  I listen to the sound of water slapping
against the boat.  I feel it beneath us.  I am fixed on his cock
as though it were the axis of the world.

We don't say anything.  Somehow I know it is the last time.

It is as if words would chase away whatever spirit is watching
over this moment.

I come.

Hard.

But he is not moving.

I am crying.

His arms surround, and my breasts are beneath his hands.  He is
strong, and lean, and his scent will always make me wet.

I come, again.  Gently, he is moving in me.

My fingers are in his hair pulling his face into my neck where I
can feel his breath.  We are facing the moon.  My fingers tell
him, "Come in me."

I feel his body.  I know it so well, his orgasm is coming and my
fingers tell me all about it.

They tell him about the baby he is giving me, the one I want, the
only token I can take from this, my last love.

Please God, don't let there be anything like this again, I think,
as I feel him tighten, hard inside me, touching that place that
only he can reach, and I bite my lip to keep from screaming as I
come and feel his semen inside me, falling warm and life-giving
in the fertile place where I ache for him.


  
Finale