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Ashley Alban

Chapter Seven

“Good,” he said. “Now, for God’s sake, get my mother cleaned up. She’s in for a big day. I’ll get things ready.”

I laughed softly, went to Stephanie, helped her to stand, and walked her into the bathroom.

I took her into the shower and cleaned her up. I scrubbed her face, shampooed her hair, and then did her body.

When I had her dry we walked into the bedroom where mom was waiting.

“I’ll take over now,” she said and sat Stephanie at a little makeup desk.

“Shoo,” she said, giggling as I stood watching so I threw on my jeans and went into the front room.

Greg was sitting on the couch, watching the news on Fox. I grabbed a cup of coffee and sat on the other end of the couch.

“Are you sure you’re okay with all of this?” he asked, muting the TV.

“I’m overwhelmed,” I said, “but yes, I’m pretty sure I’m okay with it all.”

“Good,” he said, “because, Dave, I’m deadly serious here. I INTEND,” and the way he said it made the emphasis clear, “to be President of the United States someday, and I need the smartest guy I know,” he flashed that grin that might get him to the Oval Office, “to both advise me and remind me.”

“Remind you?” I said.

He laughed and said, “yeah, remind me. I read a book once, I don’t remember what it was, but one of the main characters was the President. He had a guy that was part of the group that greeted him every morning. Everybody else would say ‘Good morning Mister President,’ but that guy would say, ‘Good Morning you Sonofabitch.’ When someone asked the President about that, he said he needed someone to remind him he was only President, not King or God.”

I laughed.

“So you need me to call you a sonofabitch?” I asked, taking a sip of the coffee.

“No,” he said, “but I will definitely need someone to say ‘get your head out of your ass’ when I’ve managed a full cranial insertion.”

I laughed again, this time snorting coffee.

“You do know I’m just entering my Junior year in college,” I said.

“Yeah,” he said, grinning, “but it’s not like we’ll be moving to DC for a while. Hell, man, first I’ve got to get myself elected to the Colorado Senate and that isn’t a slam dunk.”

“Welllllllll,” I said, “I’ll do what I can you sonofabitch.”

This time he was the one laughing and snorting coffee.

“You’re serious about all of this? The marriage? The big house? The sleeping arrangements?” I asked.

“Oh hell yes,” he said. “Look, I didn’t exactly plan this with mom and I damn sure didn’t with MaryLou, but I discovered something. It don’t wear out and you CAN love more than one person at once.”

I started to say something but he held up his hand, a sly grin this time.

“Annddd,” he said, dragging out the word, “we’ll both have a built-in variety pack.”

Which made me laugh.

“So I’m to be the consigliere to your Godfather?” I asked.

I could see him thinking about that before he said, “you know, we ARE talking about politics. That’s a VERY apt description. So we’ll support you through school but you BETTER get good grades. Trust me, my mom’s spankings hurt and I’m putting her in charge of making sure you are a GOOD student.”

I laughed again and said, “empty threat. I’ve been looking forward to getting back to school for four years.”

“What’s so funny?” mom asked and when I looked over she was walking hand in hand with Stephanie and she had done a spectacular job with her. Her hair was done up, not full-blown country singer big hair but nicely curled and framing her pretty face. Her face was perfect, the makeup highlighting the color of her eyes. Her lips were bright scarlet, her eyelids a bright teal blue.

When she saw me staring she giggled and did a quick turn and I realized that the shapeless housedress she had on was really a hospital gown, tied at the back. The size of her, from the soft rolls of her back to her big ass, heavy thighs, and cellulite dimples was something I found sexy.

“Greg was threatening me with Stephanie’s spankings if my grades fell off,” I said.

“Oh goody,” mom said, “can I watch.”

And I laughed again.

Greg stood and went to the fancy satchel I had noticed him carrying earlier. He opened it up and came out with a small wallet, a zippered folder in black leather. When he opened it I saw a hypodermic syringe and fresh needles in their little sterile clear plastic packages, and a half dozen small pill bottles.

“Okay,” he said, the perfect jovial politician about to deliver a speech or kiss a baby, “let’s get this party started.”

He crooked his finger beckoning Stephanie and she went to him. It seemed to me she had a bounce in her step. I almost expected her to skip a little.

“Ass out,” he said and she bent and put her hands on the coffee table. The hospital gown fell open and her big ass was on display, her belly hanging low.

He turned to me and said, almost conversationally, as he stuck the needle into her ass and pushed the plunger home, “this is prostaglandin, a hormone that will get tuzla escort her started, get her cervix dilating. You know, get things moving in the right direction.” That last was said with a casual chuckle in his voice.

“This,” he said, handing her a little white pill, “is plain old Ecstasy to make sure she gets the most sensation from the experience.”

She took the pill and smiled dreamily.

“This,” he said, handing her a big clear capsule full of some tan colored powder, “is a big overdose of prolactin to get these flowing,” and he squeezed her right breast, making a wet spot where her nipple expressed milk, “even more than they are now.”

She squirmed a little.

“This,” he said, handing her a blue, diamond-shaped pill, “is Viagra. Her nipples, clitoris, areolas are erectile tissue, like a cock. It’ll make her interesting places hard and sensitive.”

“And this,” he said, handing her a little wafer cracker, “is a microdose of LSD so she’ll be, well suggestible.”

Stephanie giggled, stuck out her tongue, and laid the cracker on it.

“And now,” he said, reaching for mom’s hand, “come on toots, we have that thing at the Junor League where you’ll look serious and I’ll have the women eating out of my hand.”

She giggled, came over and kissed me quickly, kissed Stephanie, took Greg’s hand, and said, “let’s go, I need to make myself presentable.”

“You could go as you are,” he said, squeezing her breast, “and make those cows look dowdy, but IF you insist, okay.”

And they swept out like, well, like a married couple.

I was kind of surprised that I didn’t feel a rush of jealousy.

But that’s hardly surprising when I looked back and saw Stephanie, big and beautiful and so damn desirable I felt a sudden stirring in my groin.

So I closed the distance between us.

“Is this really necessary?” I asked, reaching around and taking the end of the tie of her hospital gown between my thumb and forefinger.

She looked up at me, her eyes slightly unfocused, and smiled.

“I don’t think so, do you?” she replied.

So I tugged the tie, felt the bow give, and let the gown fall between us.

I was struck, not for the first time, with how beautiful and how utterly feminine, how perfectly female she looked. Her hair was done and her face made up. Her arms were big and soft with those big pads of fat some truly big women get at the backs of them, her breasts full and pendulous, her belly an immense mass of stretch marks, her waist nonexistent. And I wanted to run my hands over every square inch of her and then follow with my tongue and my lips.

“Tell me I’m beautiful,” she said, looking up into my eyes.

I did the palms to her cheeks thing, held her eyes for a few seconds, bent down and kissed her very softly, and said, “you are beautiful.”

She started to say something but I silenced her with a kiss and said, “you are gorgeous. You are stunning,” and she giggled, “I can’t wait to marry you and show the world how lucky I am,” I finished.

“Make love to me,” she said softly, “take me to bed and make love to me, take your time, show me you love me.”

So I took her hand and led her to the stairs. I guided her ahead, worried about the stairs, and followed, my hand very light on the small of her back, my eyes very focused on her big ass. “Who knew,” I thought to myself, “that cellulite dimples could be THAT fucking sexy.”

About halfway up the stairs she stopped suddenly, bent a little at the waist, hissed a sharp intake of breath, and held still for a slow five count.

“Are you all right?” I asked.

“Yes, baby,” she said, her breath a little shaky, “just the first contraction.”

“Oh,” I said, feeling stupid for not figuring out what it had been.

She giggled and said, “I’m okay honey, get used to it.”

She straightened and started back up the steps, me following, touching, watching.

We stopped in the bathroom and she sat and peed. I wiped her, helped her stand, and led her back to bed.

I stripped off my clothes and climbed into the bed with her, thinking she was craving some sort of encouragement or validation. I was kind of struggling for words but I knew I wanted her to feel good.

So I started at her feet, playing with fat toes and pudgy calves, telling her she was beautiful. I massaged and caressed her dimpled knees and her big soft thighs. I made love to her belly, caressing it with my cheeks and my lips. I sucked on her belly button, protruding dramatically, making her giggle. When she parted her legs her labia were swollen and full so I kissed there too, telling her what a beautiful pussy she had.

When I slipped inside of her, she was so loose and relaxed there was no friction at all. I flashed to a scene from that television show “Nip/Tuck” when one character or another who had been talking about getting vaginal reconstruction and tightening had said, describing herself, “nobody wants to have sex with a glass of warm water, it’s not very satisfying” or something like that.

She pendik escort was watching my eyes and apparently my reaction was obvious.

“It’s part of the hormones working honey,” she said, “there’s going to be a LOT of stretching down there so they make me loose and relaxed to accommodate the baby.”

“It’s okay,” I said, pulling out and exploring with my fingertip.

The Viagra was working and her clitoris was hard as a stone and so sensitive she cried out when I touched it and then began tugging on it with my thumb and forefinger.

I masturbated her like that, stopping every few minutes when a contraction took her and she went into that rapid whistling breathing from her Lamaze class until her back arched and she came.

“You’re beautiful,” I said, swinging my leg over her so I was straddling above the rise of her belly.

I caught her hands in mine and used them to push her big boobs together, capturing my erection between them. I LOVED the way her nipples were leaking and her milk provided interesting lubrication as the titty fuck began.

I took her that way, slowly, using her breasts for my pleasure, and judging by the look on her face, she was getting pleasure as well. I gradually slowed the motion of my hips and smiled down as she made up for it by using her hands to press her breasts together and move them faster.

She was starting to sweat too, adding to the wantonness of her look. Sweat was wetting her hair and that carefully applied makeup was starting to run. Honestly, the way she was panting and sweating, she looked a little demented.

I liked it.

When I came the thick strings of semen on her face added to the impression of wildness.

I got off of her, kissed her, and went back to caressing her body, telling her how gorgeous she was.

Every few minutes a contraction would take her. She would do the Lamaze breathing thing and I would tell her she was beautiful.

I thought about the LSD and grinned.

I rolled her nipple between my thumb and forefinger and said, “oh my God, your nipple is turning to stone.”

Her eyes got big and she reached up and started tugging on her nipples, her milk spraying everywhere.

“I guess they’re not,” I said and she got the giggles. She giggled through two contractions, her face getting so red I started to worry about blood pressure and strokes and things.

“There’s some ice cream in the freezer, baby,” she said, “get it for me, okay?”

So I went downstairs to the kitchen, found the gallon of Rocky Road in the freezer, grabbed a spoon, and went back upstairs.

She was in full contraction when I got to the bedroom and I could see the way her pussy was bulging with what was happening.

“God, you are SO beautiful,” I said, standing in the doorway, looking at her.

She smiled, wiping her sweat wet hair out of her face, and said, “Oh goody, gimme,” crooking her finger and pointing at the ice cream.

I got a couple of pillows from the other bedroom and propped her up then moved around, got on my knees, and started feeding her the ice cream.

She closed her eyes, looked like she was almost achieving orgasm with each bite.

I fed her like that until the gallon container was empty, easily an hour, maybe more. I wasn’t exactly keeping time.

When she was done I was hard again from watching her. She smiled when she saw and then rolled over onto all fours.

“Here baby,” she said, wiggling her big ass, “some things are still tight.”

So I took her from behind. I pushed into her pussy, running with her natural lubricant, and then into her anus, the tight little rosebud she was offering. I kept that up, swapping holes with each thrust until she was slick and ready and then took her anally, rubbing her back and her ass, telling her how beautful she was. With each contraction she would clench around me, almost painfully squeezing, and I would hold still, deep inside of her, rubbing her back, squeezing the rolls I found there. It took a long time for me to achieve my own release.

When I came she did too, crying out, her fingers clawing at the mattress.

We stayed like that, her carrying my weight, through three more contractions, until I softened and left her.

“Okay,” she said in a very breathy voice, “and with that I need you to help me into the bathroom.”

I got up and offered my hand. Just as she stood another contraction hit and I had to support her to keep her from falling to her knees.

“I’m okay,” she said and took a shaky step toward the bathroom.

She didn’t stop at the toilet. She went to the linen closet beside the vanity, opened the door, and came out with a red rubber water bottle with a long white hose terminating in a bulb-ended douche syringe. She reached up into the closet and pulled down a thick rug and a very heavy bath towel.

I watched as she started the water running, her finger testing the temperature.

She put a few drops of the liquid soap by the sink into the water bag and then filled it, put the stopper with aydınlı escort its white hose in, clipped the chrome clip in the hose, took my hand, and headed back to the toilet.

“When the urge to push hits me,” she said, “the same muscles that you use to, you know, empty your bowels are involved.”

She stopped and did the lamaze breathing thing again as a contraction took her.

“So I need this if you don’t want to have a few pounds of shit when I deliver,” she finished.

She laid the rug on the floor and then covered it with the heavy towel. I held her hand as she slowly lowered herself to lay on her side.

“You know what to do,” she said, and used a hand to lift one butt cheek.

I slipped the syringe in, watching it disappear as the bigger bulb at the end got past her sphincter and she squeezed.

Then I opened the little clip/valve and heard a little bubbling sound as the water started flowing.

She giggled then, and a contraction took her.

“Well,” she said when it had passed, “am I still beautiful.”

I bent and kissed her.

“Absolutely gorgeous,” I said.

“You are sweet,” she said, “I can’t wait to marry you.”

The import of what she had just said struck me suddenly.

“Until death us do part,” I said and kissed her again.

She was crying suddenly.

“Don’t mind me,” she said, wiping her eyes, “mood swings are part of it.”

I kissed her again, a salty snotty kiss, and said, “I love you, gorgeous.”

The water bottle was empty.

“Fill it again, honey, please,” she said.

So I shut the clip and gently pulled the syringe out. I was not at all surprised to find it brown streaked.

I refilled the water bottle and went back in. This time I lifted her ass cheek and inserted the syringe without any help from her.

I rubbed her belly and her side, told her she was beautiful, white hose up her ass and all, making her laugh softly.

She had me fll the bottle a third time before she was ready to finish.

I helped her to sit and then kissed her while she emptied her bowels. When she was done I took her to the sink and had her stand, bent over, while I used one of the older washcloths to clean her up.

The contractions were almost constant by then. She would do the lamaze breathing thing, squeezing my hand or pounding on the mattress, relax for a few seconds, and start again.

It took minutes to walk her back to the bedroom. She would make a few steps and then have to stop while the contraction took her.

It turned out, she was right. She was not pretty when she was in labor. Her hair was wet and lank with her sweat. Her nose was running, tears were running down her face, her face was very red, her eyes were puffy and swollen, her makeup was smeared all over her face, she was drooling and when she opened her mouth to yell, which she did a lot, thick strings of mucus laden saliva connected her upper and lower lip.

“God, you’re beautiful,” I said during one of the brief breaks between contractions, brushing wet hair out of her face.

She managed a snotty smile and got out, “liar,” before she yelled as she was taken with another contraction.

Her body was running with sweat now and it hit me that labor was just that, labor, it was hard physical work.

She relaxed and I covered her face with kisses again, “beautiful.”

“Davey,” she said gasping and then went into the breathing/whistling thing again.

The contraction passed and she said, “Davey, I HAVE to push.”

“Try to wait,” I said, “mom and Greg should be home soon.”

Lamaze breathing again.


Lamaze breathing again.


Lamaze breathing.

“I HAVE TO PUSH,” she said and collapsed back onto her pillow.

I covered her face with soft kisses, salty and snotty and wonderful kisses.

“Then push,” I said softly, my breath warm in her ear.

“Thank you,” she breathed and then grunted and did a half sit up and I could see the way she was straining. Her face was turning a bright red. She was holding her breath as she pushed. She was making an odd sound, somewhere between a grunt and a whistle. She held that position, that strain, for a long 30 count before she collapsed back onto the pillows.

“Oh God, oh God,” she was sort of whispering, “I can’t, oh God, we went……”

Another wave took her and she did it again. The half situp. The red face. The strange sound. She huffed out a hard breath and blew snot down her chin onto her boobs, but nothing happened.

“I can’t,” she was sort of whimpering, “oh God, it’s too big, we went too far, I…..”

I remembered the thousands of TV shows I’d seen where a woman was giving birth so I moved around, getting my knees between hers and leaning back and sitting on my feet. Her legs were apart and I offered a gentle pressure to get her to lift her knees.

She was swollen and I could see the baby’s head. Jesus, it was huge.

She screamed and pushed again and I could see the way she bulged out.

“Almost there,” I said, as soothingly as I could, “I can see the head.”

“It’s too big,” she said, and she was crying now, “we went too far.”

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