Pregnant Pause and Free Delivery

I had to decide if I was going along with the daughter, taking a giant risk that the mom would lodge a protest if not a warrant. Well, I gambled on the daughter. As she held her mildly struggling society mom, I gently disrobed her. The mother's arms, jangling from elaborate charm bracelets, were flailing away at me. My mouth found her mature pouting brown nipples. Once I mouthed those enticing things, her eyes closed, her protests ended, and her daughter could let go.

I went up to her beautiful face and covered it in kisses. There actually were tears in her eyes. She REALLY wanted this, unlike her daughter ironically, but she was afraid to admit it to herself. The rest was anti-climactic. I dropped my heavy love log into her blonde nest of beaver fluff. I dragged it roughly back and forth until her daughter said, "Enough foreplay, studboy. Put my mother in the family way, if you're man enough!"

Furious, I flexed my bulging biceps and wielded my powerful foot long sausage to the entrance. As her daughter watched in delight, I was going to do a heavy number on this conservative, prim and proper, society soccer mom. Garden clubs and debutante cotillions or not, she muttered in awe and ecstasy as I inched my way inside of her, just like the truck-stop waitresses. She grabbed her daughter, appealing to be let free. "I can feel his size, his power. He's much bigger than your dad, much harder, so much more man. He's TOO much man, dear. Please let's stop this while...oh, my God! His cockhead is like one of those July 4th sparklers, set off wonderment where it goes. Oh, I AM in heaven...I can't wait to feel the power of his seed...the volume...what wonders his seed could produce...oh, heavens, the hell with my sissy husband, seed me hard, muscle boy!"

With that kind of encouragement, I grabbed her and pumped whatever seed I had left after the day's activities. My swollen testes did themselves proud again, and she left with her vagina absolutely bloated with babymaking love liquid. As she drove home, a thin stream was trickling down her creamy thighs and silky smooth legs. She did not even realize it.

Her micro-dicked husband asked her about it.

She said that he (her hubby) just turned her on so much. To her amusement, he pathetically rolled his shoulders in his cotton Polo by Ralph Lauren shirt and flexed his Mr. Olympia 11 inch arms. She cooed, stroked the flaccid 'guns' of her hubby, and then excused herself. She quietly ran out the back kitchen door where she could laugh undetected. Once out of her system, she thought of my bulging biceps, twice that diameter, shook with passion, and vowed to have a 'follow-up appointment' made.

Eventually, with word of mouth about me and their advanced clinical techniques, the clinic grew and I got that princely $2,000/month wage. It was great, let me tell you. Gorgeous Asian women with soft flowing black hair (everywhere too, which was really nice), white women of course, and the occasional African-American.

The first African-American woman was taller than me, looking like Whitney Houston. Her husband was a quiet university professor who, apparently, had just too low a sperm count. When any number of relatives were suggested by him as replacement/donors, she startled him by insisting upon him or a professional. He had no choice, then, but to spring for my services. She was certain that I would chicken out or 'get a headache', but I did a heavy number on her. I must say, the contrast of my thick white seed and the cave from which it oozed was a sexy sight; just to be professional, I put her in the waiting room for an hour, and did a free follow-up visit. The rules were, free follow-up, but only after 5 weeks and a pregnancy test.

She called back, saying time was up and she was ready to get her free follow-up.

I asked if she would come here and let us do a pregnancy test just to be sure that I 'missed' before.

She mumbled some excuse and hung up. Caught you!!

She seemed so intent; I later called her back and said I could do a 'check-up' on her, but only once and at the end of the day.

She was ecstatic and it was a date. Her check-up went well, and she happily drove home, a thin stream of pale liquid dripping out of her and down to the carpet for the 90 minute drive home.

I will tell you about two more patients that I ran into. The clinic did a novel thing. They offered to well-placed women who wanted anonymity a 'dark room' special, wherein they'd enter in disguise the side door, after hours, enter my office, but in the dark, and then have me service them. It was 100% guaranteed that I would never know who they were, nor would anyone but 1 or 2 clinic employees.

My first such client happened seven months after my start there. I was blindfolded on the bed. The client came in. She tripped against the bed, said the single word "sh-t!" and then crawled onto the bed. Soon, an octopus was enveloping me, feeling and squeezing my powerful arms, my broad shoulders, and finally, my long cock. Her deft hand keyholed the cock; her other hand searching out my orange sized balls, hefting them. She forgot herself and was bringing me to a rapid climax, but a useless one for inseminations.

I forcefully removed her hands, put both of them in a finger handcuff of my left hand, and flipped her onto her back on that bed in the pitch dark. I then mounted her. I got that rush I always got for a conquest, flexed my muscles proudly, and started feeding her my cock, one inch at a time. I finally got nine of my twelve inches inside her. I then used my rough uncut cockhead like a feather duster, tingling the sensitive vaginal walls of this mystery woman. She flailed in the air to find me, clutched me to her fiercely, mouth on mouth, and muffled her screams of orgasm. That was enough for me. I grabbed her soft, woman's behind, pressed very hard, and came with all the force, power, and volume I could muster. I did quite a number on her fertile depths, with enough seed to knock up the Dallas Cowboy cheerleaders, all of them at once.

I gasped for air. The matron gathered her things and left. Not even a thank you, a kind word, maybe asking me for my address for an informal follow-up. Nothing. Finally, she said: "That wasn't bad; I'll see you at home, sweetheart."

Oh great, I just knocked up my own mom, at my own job...

There was one last 'dark room' job before I said no more 'dark room' jobs or I'm walking. Again, blind fold, dark room, matron let in. Only, this one was different.

My mother might have been soft, but she still looked great. I had never shown any interest in her (I was a good little boy), thus her use of the 'dark room'. This last matron seemed different. For one thing, she seemed soft but less Barbie like in her figure; more like Raggedy Ann (shapeless). For another thing, whereas the other dark room babe (mom) was slow, gentle, and loving, this last babe was pawing, clutching, almost desperate. It was like this was her first, last, and only shot at love, and she was hoping for all of her problems to be solved in one wild night of passion.

One last footnote. We had two offers for my services. One had guarantees, with free follow-up and guaranteed performance. It was not cheap. For others, there was a very low entry fee. The problem was that there were no follow-ups covered and even the initial performance was strictly up to fate (i.e. me). The latter deal was great for, say, Lindsay Lohan. Performance would be pretty much guaranteed. However, we had a power surge, and the timer that kept off the dark room's light until late for security purposes re-set; the light came on.

As you might have guessed, the mystery patient this time was none other than Bertha N., the guidance counselor who had given me such a glowing write-up and said, and I quote: "You DO understand me, don't you? I am saying that you are a no account bum that will never amount to anything. You certainly won't have a family or be able to support one. Now get out of my office! There ARE some students that might be salvageable and you're stealing time from them!"

She remembered too, and having been exposed by that unexpected light, she actually got on her chubby knees, begging me. I stood up, spread my wings (flexed my muscles, looming over her like some low-level god), my huge penis waving in her chubby face. I said with all the enthusiasm I could muster: "You certainly won't have a family or be able to support one. Now get out of my office!"

She rose to her stubby legs, gathered her sexy Lane Bryant size 22 clothes, and waddled out. Sure, it was cruel, but (to be childish) she did it first, and sort of undercut any other career paths. I was lucky and grateful she had not invoked the "p" word (pregnancy) which would have made me perform for her (ugh).

Now that I thought about it, I should have stopped her and thanked her, for what could be a better, more fun career than the job I now had?

So I did it, with taste and class. I said, "Wait, Bertha!"

She stopped oozing out the doorway, turned and looked with hope back into the room at me. "Yes" she said.

I said with all of my heart: "Go screw yourself, bitch..." It was my best impression of Clark Gable from "Gone with the Wind." No, I wasn't getting an Oscar for it, but overall, it was an Oscar-winning performance. As to what would become of her, frankly, "I didn't give a damn."