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[Elements of incest are touched upon but are not integral to the story plot.]


“You DO understand me, don’t you, I? 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!”, so sayeth guidance counselor Bertha N.

That warm, wonderful, encouraging speech was from my high school counselor, discussing my college prospects (none?), my job prospects (almost none), and the help I could expect from her and her office (definitely none!)

With that ringing endorsement, who WOULDN’T be enthusiastic and confident? I was so charged up I didn’t bother going to the pathetic job fair the high school arranged, during these recession years. What was the use?

Deflated, I applied to be a pizza delivery boy. Pathetic? Sure! But at least I met their extensive requirements: 1-own your own car. 2-demonstrate an ability to inhale and exhale. End of requirements.

My life was fully scripted now. My guidance counselor’s ‘pep talk’ now seemed optimistic as I weathered traffic, barking dogs, bad neighborhoods, bad pizzas (i.e. prank orders or, worse, pizza orders leading to robbery), and always, crappy tips.

All of this time, I lived at home with my divorced mother. She very much looked like and was as hot as, Doris Day (for those who can remember that far back). With me a stud boy toiling away in the weight room, you would think that we were going at it like hamsters. Alas, she was a ‘good’ mom and I was a good little boy (of 18) and never our twains did meet. Not that there wasn’t a certain tension there, building up over the years. As to my problems with girls and life overall, mom thought my problem was that I was too shy, a home boy as they used to call them. She wanted grandchildren desperately, and wanted me to get off the dime about that. Many parents are like that, but very few take the steps that my mother did.

Her divorce settlement was generous and she didn’t have to work. When she did work, years back, it was as a therapist who included extensive use of hypnosis. She had already given me 7 treatments, some of which worked, others that hadn’t. I had been on the road to being not only bad in school but out of shape too.

Her post hypnotic suggestions got me off of junk food and into the tiny gym we had in the basement. So, I may have been a “C” student, but I was a damn healthy one. I developed an impressive physique, though only I and my mom knew about it. Job or no job, mom thought I should be ‘out there’ where women could experience the new (studly) me. So, she made another post hypnotic suggestion that, she was certain, would really yield grandchildren by the busload.

Her hypnotic suggestion was: “When you hear the word pregnant you will become excited. If you are offered a chance to get a woman pregnant, you will become excited and will impregnate her. You will not be able to refuse. Just the sight of a pregnant woman will get you excited and make you seek out a woman to impregnate. These rules will apply whether you have made an impregnation five years ago or five minutes ago. When these conditions apply, nothing else in this world matters but these rules. When I awake I will only remember these rules and nothing else.”

So unknown to me, I was walking around with not only lectures on junk food and working out, but also in ‘driving to the hoop to score’ regarding women. All of these concepts were implanted in my dime store head by my mother. Looking back, I guess I was lucky she hadn’t REALLY gone crazy and given me some really odd suggestions (You will wear only plaid? Vote for Perot? The AMC Pacer was a great car?)

Well, all of these elements led up to the mistake that led to some ‘changes’ in my life. I was delivering pizzas, my proud profession, when we got an order from the new fertility clinic. Ironically, it was one mile outside of our area and within our company’s other store’s range. For reasons unknown, we took the order anyway. I zoomed there to make our delivery time promise. Our ‘official’ outfit is a blue company shirt and whatever pants that fit. I was wearing basketball shorts (completely against company rules) and a new pair of Nike’s.

I found the clinic using the archaic on-line Mapquest off my iPhone. I parked on the wrong side. The sign clearly pointed to the front (i.e. other side) as the official entrance. God, I hate those situations. I always say screw it and go right in. SO, I went right in. You can imagine the welcome I got from the OB GYN…or her patient having the exam! Thankfully, the patient was in white gown with her legs dangling over the exam table, modestly. No foul, I prayed.

The obligatory “What the hell is this?!!”

And eryaman escort then “God, I’m sorry, I used the wrong door.”

This was followed by the ever lilting “Get the hell out of here, and use the right door, moron.” As I headed out, FATALISTICALLY, the doctor added: “And close that door quietly, this is a pregnancy clinic!” Uh, oh!!

Sure enough, I closed my eyes, and that post-hypnotic suggestion overwhelmed me. I passed out, probably because this was the first time I had heard that word since the powerful hypnosis and I had built up a reaction.

The doctor immediately stopped her verbal diatribe, of course, and ran to me. Putting those pizzas in the garbage, she gently laid me flat. Grabbing her scope, she could see pupil response was fine. I was just out for a moment. Then, the patient cleared her throat, telling the doctor to see something else.

The OB GYN looked down and gasped. The hypnosis was intended to make me react with all my manhood if pregnancy was invoked in any form. Sure enough, the doctor noted that arising from my all too casual cotton shorts was perhaps my only real asset on this planet: a solid foot long cock.

Within one minute, both patient and doctor were kneeling near me staring at my magical rod. As the patient lightly touched it, the doctor did a full body scan, noting that I might have been a barely employed moron, but I was fabulously well built nonetheless (not having a computer or anywhere to go, I did retreat to the gym in mom’s basement, with good results it appeared.)

I came to and they helped me up. The patient put my cock back in my cotton shorts. I said, “Not that I particularly mind, but what was with my Johnson being out?”

The doctor: “It just grew out of your shorts, for some reason. I must note, professionally speaking of course, you have an extraordinarily large and handsome organ. I am not just saying that to be polite…remember, this is a pregnancy clinic (again, I tottered, sitting on a metal stool) dealing with problems like Mrs. S. here. Normally, as in her case, we would find a donor to impregnate her clinically, as her husband is sterile. While you were unconscious, she joked on how nice it would be to try a much simpler and cheaper ‘old fashioned method’. What I’m asking you is: do you think that you could spare time from that other job and work here too, on a part-time basis?”

This sounded pretty damn good, but what was the story about Greeks bearing gifts? I said: “Part-time basis? Doing what?”

The doctor: “Geez, some imagination? What do you think…lord, show him.” She nodded to the patient. The good patient climbed on the exam table, centered herself, let her gown fall open. The good doctor saw my ears prick up, so she gave the last impetus: “Come on, get over here and make her pregnant!”

A little dizziness now as I got used to that overpowering word. I took off my cheap duds, flexed my muscles to show them a stud was present, and climbed on board. I couldn’t believe that I had been invited, almost begged, to knock up this gorgeous MILF 45-ish blonde soccer mom. She moaned in pleasure as my 12 inch cock slithered its way into her fertile depths. My rough ended cockhead, uncut, was scraping and tingling the sensitive vaginal walls as it inexorably advanced. No force on earth would stop it from its quest to find the fertile fields. Her powerful cunt muscles gave me a titanic squeeze, almost cutting me in half. But, she was just trying to remind me that she was a part of this act, too. I continued my sawing, in and out, when finally I felt her quake. Without warning, this sexy soccer mom just couldn’t take the excitement anymore and shouted out some bad words before moaning in orgasm. I joined her. I grabbed her matronly behind, holding it in a bear-like grip. Soon, I was spraying with firehose power a shower of potent sperm that went everywhere, leaving her fertile womb alive with vibrant, spawning spermatozoa. I was about to roll on my side to relax when I realized, there was no side.

I stood up again. The patient got up groggily, thanked the doctor, thanked me by kissing me in a lewd, lascivious fashion unbecoming an older mature woman (in other words, I loved it), and left.

As I caught my breath, the doctor petted me on the shoulder. She said that: “while you were out, the patient challenged me to convince you to service her. She said she’d pay $500 to the non-profit clinic if I could. Well, I got you to do her, here’s her check, and here’s my check TO YOU.”

I looked in amazement. A check for $250 just for doing it!! That was like a month’s salary at the pizza place, before tips (or after tips too). I was obviously in the wrong business. I quit the lucrative field of Italian baked product transportation service and inquired about joining the clinic full-time. I waited a month, though, figuring if I worked 24/7 on weights they’d think they were getting Mr. Universe. At my interview, I was as pumped up as the former governor of California…

I sincan escort called that OB GYN who was nice enough to have me meet the physicians’ general partner who made the big decisions. I wore a short sleeve polo shirt which hugged my broad shoulders and bulging biceps. My tanned cotton cargo pants, with nothing underneath, confirmed I was a man AND that something in there somewhere was uncut and large, almost monstrous.

The general partner (GP), Esther, interviewed me. I had to present what was a pathetic dissertation of an undistinguished scholastic and professional resume.

At the end, she said, “Well, I have hired pool boys with more impressive credentials than you; on the other hand, search as I may, I never found a pool boy with a giant Anaconda in his drawers. That thing is monstrous, almost scary. So, I’ll be frank. We will pay you $1,000 per month to start, double that in six months if you get busy, with the one qualifier: you must do whatever we ask with no questions. Do we have a deal?”

I felt like screaming, “You mean one bill a month just for doing a number on a line of babes…fuck YES!!” [Ok, actually I just smiled and nodded, shaking hands.]

Right then and there, she had me fill out a confidentiality form for the patients, the usual tax forms, insurance card, and ID for me to get in at night. Then she said, “Well, we will test you right here and now.” Esther, the 54 year old general partner, undid the big expensive wooden buttons on her tweed Givenchy ensemble and got down to matronly bra and panties. She unclicked the bra on what was up till then a mediocre old woman; but suddenly she looked like a hot mama. Her boobs were 35D and damn nice.

I embarrassed myself as I closed in on those former dairy reservoirs, saying, “Oh, God, mommy, they’re so beautiful!” As she was 54 and not 24, she understood and just smiled. She steered my head down, my hungry mouth seeking out those puckering nipples like radar. It must be from our original instinct, the magnetism between male (and female too) mouth and female nipple. The older woman was so turned on now she fell back onto her desk. The huge desk was a much better place than the much narrower exam table.

As I closed in to ‘seal the deal’, yanking on the mature general partner’s underthings, I was surprised when she stopped me. She said, “Get off me and look away.” I did. I heard her fidget on the desk, then a squish. Finally, a clang as she discarded the item that she had pulled from her private depths. She said, “Ok, come back, sorry about that.”

I said: “I don’t want to be nosy, but considering how intimate we are acting, I think I can ask: did you just pull out what I think you did? And does that mean you can still get in the family way? (I carefully avoided the loaded “pregnancy” term)”

The old GP caressed my bulging biceps, straightened my hair, and smiled thinly, nodding. She said, “Don’t think of me as a patient, but as a friend. I am not going to force you to do THIS job. As a favor, I ask that you love me, but this is not part of the job description. You can feel free to go.”

I knew an order when I heard one! I picked up that older but still very sexy woman and carried her to the expensive oak chair facing the desk. I sat himself down, and then lifted my sexy boss up and over my huge 12 inch erection. I slowly released this sexy mommy onto my long rod, letting her adapt or adjust herself to the Washington Monument. She was up on tiptoes until she wiggled herself firmly onto it and then sank herself down till she touched the floor and Mr. Johnson touched her backwalls.

We fucked like demons, which is to say that my powerful arms worked her up and down like some industrial machine. When we got close, I let up looking for signs of her getting off. Because we were in the middle of the day and the clinic was buzzing, she locked her lips on mine to muffle her screams of delight.

Taking that as my cue, I pumped my seed with all my fury, with all the almost super power that resided in my unit. Splash, splash, splash, the ongoing symphony of sound related to procreation, as the transfer was made yet again between my swollen testes (the size of small cantaloupes) and the receptive vaginas of those glorious, eager to bear life, supersexy mommies.

Wow, that was quite an initial 24 hours as an employee! My job was to ‘provide my personal services’ to women, and I had done two so far. By the way, tests later showed that my first two tries were winners…both women would soon be very content and sexy mommies! Talk about finding your niche in life!! Thereafter, they charged for the 1st visit; any follow-ups were at my discretion. Unlike other clinics, if we failed to ‘get it done’ the 1st try, follow-ups were free. I only charged if the dowager was really rolling in dough or if it appeared the patient was not serious about getting pregnant.

The next Monday I showed up at 10am, clinic opening time. One of the part-time batıkent escort OB GYN’s was a beautiful 40 year old, an exile from what was South Vietnam. She had been one of those infants handed over the fence of our compound when Saigon fell, one of the last evacuees on that helicopter. She was only four at the time.

Gwen: “I just wanted to welcome you to the clinic. My only concern is that you have not ever experienced Asian women…have you? [I looked down and shook my head] Well, my concern is that you might have lingering prejudice and would therefore avoid women from…”

I stopped her dead in her tracks. I was many things (poor student, lousy driver, foolish investor, pathetic romantic) but I was NOT prejudiced. Not only did I not shun Asian women, I found many of them red hot. This woman was as cold and hard as an ingot of aluminum but I had to let her understand. In clumsy desperation, I grabbed her roughly and laid a powerful kiss on her cool, professional mouth. I braced myself for her response.

Talk about defrosting! She went from doctor to Saigon stripper. She eased me back onto a chair, took her professional uniform off with flair, and then proceeded to sit atop my manly stiff rod. Using her powerful legs, she did all the work. I just waited till I felt her quake inside, then I joined her simultaneously with a powerful grab and a lengthy broadcast of my potent seed, geysers upwards by my foot long extension, called in slang a ‘cock’.

All of this had happened before and was no big deal. But then, that doctor uncovered something about me—those hypnotic suggestions. The pretty Asian doctor said, “Whew, I bet you just got me pregnant!” As she was still on top of me, she felt me lose some motor control, shake, and then my Johnson immediately restored itself, miraculously re-filling my huge testes in an incredible production.

She staggered to her feet. Not only had she proven I would be open minded for all patients and doctors, but she had received a cuntful of potent seed, and for free. Also, she had discovered an anomaly, something in my make-up which might be of use. She would have to confer with her fellow physicians.

The next day, my client was a 42 year old mom, stuck with an impotent husband, and her 18 year old daughter, who was gay but wanted a family. This ‘double header’ was fantastic. One of the exam rooms was now set up with a double bed. This basically was MY office. As the mom watched, I bedded her beautiful blonde, lesbian daughter. The two of them had been arguing the whole morning, the daughter saying that she was gay, it was not a crime, and that she didn’t know why she couldn’t just get a procedure done.

Her mom: “Well, for one thing, you have absolutely no idea who that guy was and what his problems are. At least here, we can see this guy looks healthy and, God, he IS well endowed….”

Daughter: “That’s disgusting. This is yet another secret trick of yours to get me back on the ‘right course’. It won’t work mother! I’m just going to lie here and brace myself like I would for any other assault. And, if a pregnancy results, so be it.”

That word!! Going ‘mildly’ berserk, I pushed that lithe 18 year old lesbian back on her back on my new office bed, rolling her up till her slender ankles were against my shoulder blade, her lovely small feet just above my shoulders, my twelve inch long babymaker pressing forward, deeper and deeper into her feminine depths.

Her mom, surprised at the rather rude, rough, treatment her daughter was getting, said: “My, you ARE a ruffian, aren’t you? I won’t blame you dear if you want to leave…dear? Are you still with us?”

Her daughter: “Butt out of this, mother, he’s doing just fine. Ummm, keep going, muscle man. That long thing of yours has converted me half-way. I still love my lesbian companion, but we might have room for one more in bed…”

It was time to do my ‘man thing’. I made a real impression on her, especially in her fertile womb. I must have pumped a pint of fresh warm sperm into that lesbian, hoping to not only knock her up but also to bring her back to ‘our team’. Eight weeks later, it was clear that I had succeeded in the former (she was pregnant) but failed in the latter (she was as gay as ever.)

What happened next was strange. The daughter said, “OK, mom, you’re next!”

Her mother: “You know sweetheart; I only really came here to coax YOU to get this done. I am perfectly happy with Myron your father.”

Her daughter got irate. She forced me to stand up. She said, “Myron? You said his nickname is ‘Mr. Softee’. He can’t outlift me—his daughter–on the bench. Look at THESE guns (she prompted me to flex my bulging biceps, which I did)…you think Myron has arms like these? And what about this tool? (she held up my foot long) when Myron gets hard, if he does, do you feel your inner walls tickle? Oh, the hell with it. Look, help me here.”

The prim, proper, society matron mom was well dressed and just sitting there. Then her daughter (still nude) dragged her to the bed. Her daughter was furious that her mother would have coerced her (the daughter, a lesbian) to come here to have a baby implanted inside of her, then chicken out on her share of the deal.

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