89 comments/ 193062 views/ 68 favorites Angie's Valentines Baby By: scouries Sometimes it just happens. You're not even looking for it and it pops up out of nowhere. Which is what happened in this case. The following is a true story -- or at least as much as I can safely leave in without jeopardising the reputation of a wonderful young woman...who happens to be the mother of my baby girl. She's married to somebody else. A cuckold! He thinks the baby's his... Actually he should be happy I came along... All sexual activity described in the story is between consenting adults over 18 years of age. ENJOY. Then please take a sec and vote. THANKS! * Tuesday, February 10th 2009, Chicago, Illinois 1 Chez Paris Lingerie Emporium 2:30 pm "Can I help you?" There's a friendly, almost sweet, teenage lilt in the voice that wafts over my shoulder. "I'm browsing," I answer as turning, I look up from the frilly panties in my hands into the eyes of one of the most beautiful girls I've ever seen. An almost overpowering erotic innocence seems to be emanating from her. "Brrrr...ooow...zing," I stutter as my eyes finally break contact with hers and slowly move down and across her ripe young body. She smiles sweetly and allows my inspection without a word of complaint -- it must be a common occurrence for a beauty like her in a store like this. Finally, after I've completed my examination she asks, "For someone special? For Valentines Day? Your wife?" There's a saucy, knowing smile on the lips that have asked me the questions. It's almost a sexual leer but not quite. She's too nice. She knows I'm not shopping for my wife. "No ... I'm just..." "Those are French... haute couture ... from-" "They're beautiful. So soft ... sexy," I murmur but my attention is only for this girl, not the soft cloth between my fingers. "I know," my angel enthuses with a giggle. "Do you know how much they cost? The set I mean. With the bra." I shake my head no even though I had glanced at the price tag when I'd picked them up. She leans over and whispers in my ear, "Over Twooo huuundred dollaaaaaaaars. Plus tax." And as her mouth breathes the words into my ear a breast, a soft but firm teenage breast, a breast that I know without doubt is capped by a perfect pink nipple, gently pushes against my arm. "Actually I'm here doing research." "Are you?" The words gurgle happily from her lips, her disbelief clear as she arches her eyes upward. I can tell she thinks I'm shopping for a secret girlfriend. Again her young breast nudges into me. "I'm a writer," I say but leave it at that as I'm in no rush at all to end our encounter. In fact I'm quite prepared to spend the rest of the afternoon in this beautiful young woman's presence. My cock, sleeping peacefully just seconds before her arrival, is lurching awake. "I want to be a writer some day," the girl muses as her fingers trail over the lace trim of the panties she's holding. ""I'm taking an introductory writing course at the university," she adds. "Are you?" "Uh huh," she answers as she lifts another hanger from the rack and holds it up so I can inspect a set of black, lace trimmed lingerie. "What do you write?" "Short stories," I answer as I touch the soft lace in the crotch of the panties she's proffered. "That's what I'm hoping to write some day," she says. She watches my fingers as they trail lovingly across the delicate cloth. "Erotica," I add, then watch as her eyes grow wide. "What? Erotica? Seriously?" She can't hide her surprise, or her interest. "Some prefer to call it porn. That's why I'm here. I have to research the latest styles, the latest colors." "Hah! I bet you're shopping for a secret girlfriend," she accuses, clearly not convinced. "A girlfriend your wife doesn't know about." I sense immediately that she's hoping her guess is correct. "No, seriously, I'm shopping for the clothes for the heroine in my next story," I insist as I reach for another hanger. "What's it about then?" "It's about beautiful young, women who works as a salesgirl in a lingerie store." "Ha, I bet," she challenges but it's obvious she's enjoying the conversation. "If you're really a writer what's your name? Where can I buy one of your books?" "Literotica," I say quietly and I can't help but see that this young angel recognised the word the second it left my mouth. She knows exactly what I'm talking about. "No way!" she exclaims. I nod my head yes. "What's your name?" She challenges. "Jim," I answer. "I mean what name do you publish under?" "I'm not sure I should discuss it with you. I'm afraid it's not a site for sixteen year old girls, it's not the type of reading an innocent young virgin should be doing," I admonish. She can hear the teasing tone in my voice and see the grin on my lips but still she breaks immediately into a teenage girls pout. "Hah! I'm nineteen," she answers huffily and as she does she arches her back and draws back her shoulders. And as she does her ripe, tipped cones stretch the ivory colored fabric of the soft, v neck cashmere sweater she's wearing to its elastic limit. Her baby blue eyes bore into mine, challenging me not to look down. "Nineteen?" I question in my most dubious tone. My eyes are like lasers as they settle on her tautly stretched sweater. Her nipples , clearly now erect in excitement, poke out. I lick my lips. "I've been married two years already," she adds as she holds up her hand and displays a sparkling diamond ring. "Impossible!" And at that exact second I realise that I'm going to fuck her. Husband or not! "I am so." I continue to look dubiously at her. I wait. "Are you really a writer?" I nod yes. "Do you really have stories up on Literotica?" I nod again. "That's why I came in today. To brush up on the latest in woman's underwear," I say as I lift another panty-ed hanger from the rack. "They're just panties," she throws back at me but I can see I've captured her attention. "What color is this one then?" I ask as I hold out the hanger. "That's chartreuse cherry," she answers after checking the tag. "And this?" I point to another. "Heather tangerine." "That's Neon Scuba," she says to the next one I hold up. "What? Scuba?" I continue to lift hangers from the rack. "Coral cobalt... Pink flirt ... wildflower ..." She rattles off the colors. "Those aren't colors," I protest. "How would any reader know what I was talking about if I wrote that my sister's panties were neon scuba?" She can't mask her excitement or stop her next words, "You write inceeeeest?" I smile back at her but ignore her question, instead I ask, "And how would you describe this one?" "It's a cheekie." And then I point to others. "A brief... a thong ... hiphugger... a bikini... Boyshorts. .. a v-string." She's grinning as she staccato like identifies the latest styles of panties. "That's lace... fishnet... scalloped... a skirted thong..." She continues to identify every piece of cloth I hold out to her. I hold up my hands in mock surrender. "And that's my problem." "What is?" she wants to know. "How can I describe something like this as a scalloped, fishnet, lace up, cheeky panty in neon scuba?" I ask. "My readers won't have any idea what I'm talking about." "I'd know." "You work in the store. Of course youuuuu'd know..." I answer sarcastically. But I'm grinning. "You need a teacher." "Do I?" "Uh huh. What's your name?" "You won't recognise it." "Stiiiiiiill..." Her still is murmured softly in invitation. "James R Scouries," I answer after a moment's hesitation. "SCOURIES! Noooooooo waaaaaaaay!" Christ, she's somehow recognised my name! "You wrote Allison's Ankle. And Charlie's Naked Proposal. And I loved Valetines Siblings. I'm shocked and I know my face shows it. I can't help but wonder why this young beauty is reading my erotic stories. She should be home in bed living her own stories. Who is this girl married to? And why incest stories? And why brother/sister stories? "You're my favourite author." "I am?" "Uh huh. I've even sent you e-mails. And you wrote back." "What's your e-mail address?" I'm instantly curious, wondering if I'll recognise the name. "My first name at gmail.com." "And what's your first name?" I ask as I go to put my hand on her shoulder. She dances back out of reach. "You'll have to buy me coffee ... my break's at four," she answers mischievously as she slips away. FUCK ME!!!!! 2 Coffee Shop 4:00 pm Of course I'm waiting for her when she slips out through the front door of the shop at 4:01. "I've only got thirty minutes," she says as she takes my hand and starts to lead me down the street. 'There's a coffee shop just down the block." "We open up the boutique at ten each morning," she explains as she leads me. "Gladys opens up then and I start only at noon. I get a half hour break at four." I'm hardly listening; instead my eyes are concentrating on the body pulling me along in its wake. The beautiful breasts dancing under her sweater. The tiny waist. The flaring hips. The long legs that are hardly concealed by the pleated yellow mini skirt that dances off her thighs as she walks. "Gladys leaves at six and I stay until eight when I close up." "You're all alone at night?" "Today I am. Usually Madame Benoit, she's the owner, is there but she had a conference today. She'll be back tomorrow," she says as we sweep into the coffee shop. She leads me to a booth at the back as she calls out a greeting to the two women standing behind the counter. She's recognised immediately by the waitress and a 'Hi Angie' echoes back through the shop. "Angie? Like in Angela?" I ask as we sit down facing each other. Our knees bump together awkwardly. My cock gives a start in response. "So you're married," I say as I place my hand on top of hers and cover the ring. Our waitress has just delivered our coffee. We each order a Danish to go with it before she leaves. "Two years." "Impossible," I protest but then quickly add, "unless you got married at fourteen." "Ha, ha. I told you I'm nineteen. And my name is not Angela, its Angelique." "Yes you are." "I am what?" "Angelic." In fact sitting opposite this innocent, open faced girl is the closest I'm ever going to get to heaven. "My husband says I look angelic but sometimes act-" I interrupt, "Tell me about him?" "About who?" "This husband of yours. This man who's stolen you from the rest of mankind." "Why?" she challenges but then starts up again almost immediately. "He's older than me. Almost seven years older." Her eyes search mine, watching for my reaction. "And how old is your lover?" "My lover? What lover?" I've surprised her with my question. "C'mon, the secret boyfriend." "I don't have one. Paul's my only lover," she answers, then adds, "Paul's my husband." "That won't work if you want to appear in one of my stories." "You're really going to put me in one of your stories?" She tries to sound nonchalant but I can hear the interest. I nod yes. "Who'll I be?" "You'll be a nineteen year old married angel named Angie who works in a lingerie store. In Chicago." "But..." "Who when her husband is away sometimes does things she'll never tell him about. Wild, sexy things." "I do not!" "It's my story." "So what exactly will 'your' Angie do in 'your' story?" "You're a very, very bad girl when he's out of town." "I am?" "Is he handsome?" I ask. "Who?" "Your husband." "Is he going to be in the story?" "It depends." "He's out of town this week. At a company seminar til Sunday. And he is. Very. He's the handsomest husband in the whole world. And the kindest... and sweetest ... and best dressed... he's got blond hair and-" "Does he have a big peeeeenis?" I ask with an evil leer. 'Shhhhhh," she admonishes as she looks around to see if anyone's heard. I grab her two hands in mine. "And yes Mr. Scouries, it is beautiful," she finally whispers. "His cock I mean." "You're going to have to tell me all about it," I instruct. I see the protest on her lips so quickly add, "I'll have to know if I'm going to put him in the story." She hadn't answered my question about his size. "It's private... they're his private parts," she answers coyly. But I know instinctively she wants to tell me. "There are no private parts in a Scouries tale my dear Angie. And you'll also have to tell me about all the other penises you've seen." "His is the only one I've ever seen," she protests as her eyes again flick around the room. I know Angie's lying before I hear her words. I shake my head sadly. "I've seen some on the internet," she finally admits. I raise my eyes questioningly. "I saw one other one ... once..." Again she sees the immediate disbelief in my eyes. "Alright two. But that's all." I wait. "I saw Johnnies ... but just for a second." "Johnnies?" "I meant Greg's," she corrects as her cheeks are suddenly engulfed in a sea of red blush. "So two ... and of course my husbands. But he's the only one who's..." "Fucked you?" I finish for her. "Made love with me," she corrects. She arches her back as she says it which only pushes her young beauties further out towards me. Under the table I adjust my legs so that they capture one of her bare knees between them. "Not even with Johnnie?" I probe. "Noooooo! N...O. And there's no Johnnie." Of course there is. And I know that I'll eventually find out who he is. "So how'd you meet this old guy you married anyway?" "He's not old!" But she proceeds to tell me. She'd been sixteen. A sophomore in high school. She had a boyfriend but she was still a virgin. And then there was another boy in school who she started to like. She couldn't make up her mind between them. She was ready but wasn't sure. "And then something happened," she says over her coffee to me. But she drops her eyes as she says the words. "What?" I encourage. "It's a secret. I can't say." I knew that whatever it was it had involved this Johnnie guy. "I can't put it in my story?" "No! You can't put any of this in your story." "It's your story too. So what happened then?" "Paul came into my life. He saved me." "Saved you?" "If he hadn't appeared at exactly the right moment I don't know what would have happened to me. " "How old was he then?" I tried to do the math in my head. "Twenty-three, twenty-four?" "He'd just turned twenty-four." "And he was hanging around sixteen year olds? What was he, some kind of perv?" I ask even though I know that there probably wasn't a male on the planet who on meeting Angie at sixteen wouldn't have lusted for her. "He met me at Wendy's. He was a customer." Reading the confusion on my face she added, "I worked there, on the cash, three nights a week." "He met you at Wendy's?" I can't believe the guys luck. "He came back the next night. Then the next. He's a businessman ... he has an M.B.A... a good job ... we own a house now." The prick! He sweet talked the poor teenager. He caught her on the rebound from her high school beaus. At least that's what I accuse in answer to her description of him. "No he wasn't! He was so nice. And well dressed. Daddy and Mommy liked him the first time they met him. Mom said he was a gentleman. He treated me like a princess." Of course he did! Who wouldn't have? We talked continuously for twenty minutes until it was time for her to go back. She wanted to know about my writing and I wanted to know everything about her. She told me all about her life. How within months Paul had proposed. Her parents had been delighted even though she hadn't even finished high school. He married her during her Christmas break of her junior year. She'd just turned seventeen. They honeymooned in the Bahamas. Then I'd told her about my life. How I lived in Miami Beach. That I was just up in Chicago on business for a few days. That I was going to spend the weekend with my sister up in Madison. "Your sister? In Wisconsin?" "She's a Professor at the University up there. It's a Valentine's Day surprise." "Valentines Day? But she's your sister." "Her husband died. She finds this time of year hard," I answer. I'm not being completely honest with her. I can see she wants to ask a question, another question about my sister, so I quickly change the subject. "How come you guys haven't had a baby yet?" "We're trying," she responds but I can't miss the sad catch in her voice. And know that they're having trouble conceiving. It must be his fault, this handsome husband, I decide, there is no way this voluptuous young beauty isn't fertile. Immediately I decide I want to put my child in her! "So when are you going to give me my lingerie lesson?" I ask as I walk her back to the shop. "You really want one?" I nod eagerly. "And you're going to put me in a story?" I nod again. "We close at eight; maybe if you're not busy you could come back then. I could show you... Paul's away so I don't have to rush home right after work." Of course I agreed. Fuck Paul! If she was my wife I'd of had her locked up at home and wearing a burqa. 3 Chez Paris Lingerie 8:00 pm There are no customers in the store when I arrive back at five minutes to eight. "Will you really put me in a story?" are the first words out of Angie's pretty mouth as she locks the door and pulls down the blinds and then hangs the closed sign in the window. She turns down the lights so there's only a soft glow in the shop. "I've already closed the cash," she says as she takes my hand and leads me through the shop and then through a door and into the brightly lit, mirrored private showroom it the back. "I thought I'd start with these for your lesson," she says as she points to one of the three display tables in the room. The table is awash in pink lace and frills. "These are from our Valentines Day collection," she says as she leads me over to the table. "Lots of hearts," she adds as she lifts a pair of panties from the pile. I take out my camera and start to shoot. "You're supposed to photograph the underwear," she chides as I snap three or four of my beautiful host. She's smiling as she says it. "You're going to be the heroine of the story... I have to have some of you too. So I'll remember what you look like." As if I'd ever forget her! "What am I going to do in your story anyway?" "I told you before. Your character is going to be a bad wife. I won't know exactly how bad until I start writing." "And she'll have my name?" "Yes, and she'll look just like you. And she'll work in a lingerie shop. And be nineteen and married." "You sit over there ... on the settee," she interrupts. "And you can take notes; I'll hold each set up and describe it for you." "She'll be very bad," I say as I sit. "My story Angie I mean." "But I'm a good girl." "It'll probably be a Loving Wives category story." "Yuck! I don't like those ones. You're not going to make me sleep with someone besides my husband are you?" "Yes." "Who?" I don't answer her question, instead I say, "Hold them in front of your body ... so I can get an idea of how they'll look on you." "I've never cheated on my husband," she says as she holds the hanger containing a pink, wispy, translucent number in front of her. "Take the bra off the hanger. Put in on outside your sweater." "But-" "It's not cheating if you love the other man. He'll be a younger man. Hardly more than a boy." "I love my husband!" she insists as she fits the bra over her breasts. I snap six quick pictures. "A woman can love two men." "Not if she's married, not me," Angie retorts with conviction. "Try that one next," I instruct as I point to another set. "And then of course there will be the third man, the stranger, he'll be older," I say as I watch my little angel slip another bra over her shoulders and breasts atop her sweater. My camera clicks again. Angie's Valentines Baby "A third man? I'm going to sleep with two men besides my husband? What kind of woman are you making me? How old will this old man be? And who's my lover?" "You're going to sleep with at least two others beside your husband," I say as I get up from the sofa. "Try this one next," I say as I hold up a skimpy black lace number I've picked up from another table. "The first one, the stranger, he'll be about my age." "Your age? That would be way too old for me." She's firm in her rejection of this fictional forty year old seducer I've conjured up. She takes the hanger from my fingers. "No, this time I want to see this one modelled the right way ... not over your sweater." "I can't ... you'll see..." "Please, it's for the story ... for the readers," I implore softly. "It's wrong-" I gently guide her towards one of the small changing rooms that opens off our mirrored display room. "It's no different than if you were trying on a bathing suit for a customer. The story Angie, remember the story," I urge. She turns back to face me and asks, "So how old will the lover be?" "He's young. Younger even than you," I answer, guessing at her secret. Then I shut the door of the room. "Eighteen?" she asks through the door. "Exactly eighteen," I agree. "Yes, he'll be a horny, big cocked eighteen year old who wants to fuck the old married woman." I hear a giggle through the door. "I'm not old," she calls. But it takes her minutes before she shyly emerges from the cubicle. Her breasts are spilling out of the black lace that's struggling to contain them. "You're beautiful, no wonder the man in my story wants you," I intone reverentially as I lift the camera. "Don't, no pictures," she orders but makes no real effort to cover herself as I circle her like a vulture, snapping pictures continuously. The matching black lace 'cheekies' highlight the smooth firmness of her bum. "Describe your outfit for me ... so I'll know what to write." "Will the story Angie be wearing these when she's with the old man?" She asks. "No, these are for the young lover. The boy who makes love with you in your husband's bed." "My own bed? Where will Paul be?" "Who? The cuckold?" "He's not!" "It's just a story. Now describe this outfit." "It's a push-up bra. In lace. Black lace. They call it floral lace because of the pattern," she explains as she fingers the bra. "It's got a plunge front-" "I'll say!" "Shhh, don't interrupt," she orders and then puts her hands under her breasts and gently lifts them, almost as if she's making an offering. "A plunge front with a kissing center." Fuck, does it ever, I think to myself as I eye the deep valley between her breasts. "It has more cleavage this way. Underwire cups. And of course with adjustable straps. It closes on the back." Angie, in her enthusiasm to display her knowledge, has almost forgotten that she's practically naked in front of a man other than her husband. "Let me see," I say, then put a hand on her shoulder and then turn her so she's facing away from me. She watches me in the mirror. "What are you doing?" she asks as she feels my fingers on the fragile clasp that holds the bra in place. "I'm going to have to explain to my readers how the shy teenager struggles to get your bra undone. I just want to check how it works," I say as I easily undo the bra. Angie's hands race to hold the black lace up on her breasts. I see a nipple. Pink. Erect. She dances away from me, all the while struggling to keep her teenaged breasts covered. She doesn't completely succeed. I snap more pictures. "We better stop now. I'm going to change back," she announces firmly from the doorway to the cubicle. But she lingers there, waiting. She's enjoying our flirting as much as I. "I want you to try one more." "But-" "Just one. This is the one the girl in the story will be wearing when the older lover takes her." "He takes her?" "Yes," I answer as I pick up an ensemble from the third table. She scampers over, her curiosity drawing her. "The white one? With the garter belt? And stockings too?" "Yes," I answer as I hand her the lingerie. I can see immediately that she likes the choice. "It's expensive. It's a limited edition. From France," she explains as she takes it from my hand. "It's a ruffled Chantilly lace v-string. And the garter belt is in a matching mesh lace ... I love it in white. It's my favourite." "And the bra?" I ask. "It's a push-up, corset demi bra," my expert tells me. "Try it on." "It's very-" "Revealing?" I supply. "Yes." "PUT IT ON!" It's an order. "But-" "That's what the man in the story says." "He orders her too? Like you just did? He yells at her? Is he in the boutique in the story?" "Yes, in a room just like this one. As soon as he came into the store our fictional Angie knew he was rich. She knew that she could sell him hundreds and hundreds of dollars of lingerie if she played her cards right. Maybe thousands! That she could earn a big commission check. In the story he comes in just before closing." "Like you did tonight," Angie supplies. I nod. "He's a European. He wants her to model the lingerie for him. She knows she shouldn't but then she thinks of the money. She tells herself that nothing will happen. That he's civilised." "She's greedy isn't she? That's not like me," my Angie says even as she takes the clothes from my hands. "She should have known you can't trust Europeans. What is he? French?" "Italian," I supply. "They're the worst." "But she thinks she's safe. He's dressed like a gentleman. She knows clothes. His suit is Italian, she knows it must have cost at least three thousand dollars." "So she goes and changes into this? For an Italian?" Angie asks. "Yes she turns to go into the cubicle. But he stops her." "He does? Why?" "He says, 'No Angelique, I want you to change here, right here in front of me'. She thinks he's kidding at first but he isn't." "What does she do?" "Why don't you tell me what you think the Angie in the story will do." "I'll bet she'll probably do it. She'll have to if it's going to be an erotic story. A Scouries story. She will, won't she?" she asks. "Yes." "She shouldn't. She's making a mistake," my Angie warns her fictional namesake. "If it was you how would you do go about it? Would you strip right in front of him?" She shakes her head no. "I'd probably sit on the sofa. Like this," she says as she sits down on the soft velvet surface of the oriental style settee. She's now completely into the part. And as she does she lets the black lace bra that she'd been holding to her breasts fall. I pick up my camera. "What is she thinking as he watches her?" I ask. "She's a little bit afraid. Nervous. But excited too," my young beauty says as she slides the black panties down her legs. "She's never done anything like this before for a customer." "So why does she do it now?" I ask as I point the camera lens at her now exposed sex. "She can't stop herself." "But her husband," I protest. And as Angie bares herself to me, as her triangle of trimmed pubic down comes into view, I smell her sex, her need. The lips of her vagina are already engorged with blood, a drop of moisture glistens at her gate. "It's like she's fallen under his spell," the cute wife admits as she looks shyly up at me. "Does the man have an erection?" "Yes he does, and she can't help but notice it ... but it seems almost too big. His pants are tenting out, way out." As Angie talks she's attaching the garter belt around her waist but her eyes have darted across to the bulge that's protruding from my pants. "Is it bigger than her husband's?" Quickly Angie pulls the sheer white stockings up her legs and attaches them to the belt. She reaches for the bra. "She thinks so," my married angel responds as she fits the bra over her beautiful breasts. "Does she wonder what it'll feel like inside herself? If his big cock will feel different than her husband's does? Better?" "I love my husband's cock," Angie says as she bends to pull the wispy white panties up over her feet. "No, I want you to leave those off!" I order. "Is that what the lover in the story says?" "Yes, now stand up. HURRY!" I pull the young teen to her feet, then lead her over to the large wall mirror. I stand behind her and watch her reflection in the glass. "What is my story Angie thinking now?" I ask. My hands have closed around her arms, trapping her between them. "She's scared ... and excited. She can see his eyes... his hungry eyes. They're devouring her. She knows he wants her, that she's made a mistake." "He can smell her," I whisper in my Angie's ear. "Her sex! He knows she's wet, that she wants him. She can feel his hardness against her bum." And as I murmur the words I pull her back against me, moving her so my erection traces the crack between her cheeks. "He unclasps her bra." As I do. I can feel Angie trembling against me but she does nothing to cover the suddenly exposed pink aureoles or the hard nipples that rise from them. "What's he do then?" She asks. Her voice quavers. She's trembling in my arms. "He lifts her in his arms, like this," I say as I lift my young beauty and carry her over to the nearest display table. "He's going to take advantage of her isn't he?' she asks as I set her down on her back, her legs hanging over the edge. "Fuck her," she adds. Her eyes are sparkling in excitement. "She wants to see his cock," I say as I move between her knees and start to unbutton my shirt. "She's a bad wife," Angie responds as she raises her head. She licks her lips when my fingers start to undo my belt. "It's not her fault," I say as I push my pants and boxers down over my hips. Angie gasps. "His Italian cock's so big," she finally manages to say. "Yes it is," I answer as I move even closer to her. My straining penis bumps against her inner thigh. My Angie starts to open her mouth to protest but I bend over and capture her lips in mine, silencing her words. Her protest swallowed, her mouth opens in welcome and our tongues meet. My cock, throbbing and erect, lies waiting between our stomachs, resting on her pubic fur. My left hand softly caresses her cheek as our tongues continue to duel. "What is my story Angie thinking now?" I ask when our mouths finally separate. My hands slip down onto her breasts. "She doesn't want to. It's not right. But he touches her breasts ... she's excited." I move my head downward and capture a nipple. Angie's whole body arches upward as my teeth close lightly on the pink bud. "Does she like what he's doing?" I ask as I slide my mouth downward. It's following my fingers which have already reached her opening. "Yes. Tooooo much," she groans as my tongue finds her clit. "Whaaaaaat are you doing?" I look up. "I'm going to eat you, eat your beautiful pussy, your juicy cunt," I whisper then drop my mouth back to her sex. "But-" she starts but I'm not listening. I'm lost in her taste and her smell. I start to lick her! Within seconds she starts to wriggle under my tongue. My hands, now under her bum, tighten their grip and hold her struggling body against my face. Then Angie starts to scream out her need. It doesn't take long for the tremors to start, small at first but then quickly followed by the jerking waves of her orgasm. Her juices spew out onto my probing tongue. I taste her infidelity. Then I lick my way back up her body. My little girl is panting, her body still heaving from her orgasm. "Then he fucks her, doesn't he? After she's orgasmed. She doesn't want him to but she's helpless. She can't fight him, he's too strong. He's going to put his big cock in her isn't he?" It's more a request than question. "No, he'd never force her," I answer, my lips now just inches from hers. "She has to ask him." I slip my hand slowly down across her stomach and then lightly brush a fingertip through her bush and down into her wet opening. "Ask what," my little love whispers. "You know," I answer as first one, then a second finger, pushes inside her. "To fuck her? She has to ask him?" I say nothing, instead lower my lips back to a nipple while continuing to finger fuck her. "He won't do it if she doesn't ask?" There's desperation in her voice now. "Do you think my story Angie will ask him?" I ask as I pull my fingers from her molten, sticky cave and stand ready between her legs. My cock is bobbing eagerly in the air. "She shouldn't," Angie replies even as her hand reaches out and captures my penis. "What if she got pregnant? With another man's baby? What would her husband say?" And as she asks the questions she rubs my aching cockhead up and down her moist slit. A groan escapes her each time my cock nudges her clit. "He could take it out before he comes." "But will he?" "Or maybe this European stranger will put his baby inside of her." "But what about-" "My fictional Angie's husband can't make her pregnant. He has a low sperm count. He has watery cum. He'll never be able to impregnate her." "You don't know that! It's not true, don't write that. We haven't tested it yet, Paul has good cum," she protests, confirming my suspicion that the young couple is having trouble conceiving. "Well, will she say the words? Will she? What'll she say, it's up to you to decide," I urge. "She will. She's bad, she'll say fuck me," Angie answers as she spreads her legs even farther apart and lifts her hips to meet the penis she's placed at her gate. "She wants him doesn't she?" I hold back even as Angie's small hand tries to pull me forward. "Pleeeeeeease Jim," she begs, all pretence now gone. "Fuck me, FUCK MEEEEEEEEEE! Fuck me with your big cock!" she screams. I smash home. Bury myself in her tight young pussy. Another man's pussy. One that's now mine. "Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhh." It's a primal scream that's risen from her throat. It's a scream of anguish and a scream of welcome. I pull completely out. "Put it back! Pleeeeeeeeease," she begs. I push back inside. Then start to piston my hips, forcing my ram continually deeper. "Haaaarder .... faaaaasterer... more ... more Jim," she yells as I fuck her. She's gone, lost now in the euphoric feelings the nerve endings in her cunt are flooding her brain with. She starts to wail. I can't think. My cock has taken over. But my cock can't hold back, it cums almost immediately. Fuck, I've had a hard-on for her since I met her six hours ago. But it doesn't matter, she's ready and her body is bucking up off the table in orgasm when the first thick strand of my cum splatters deep inside her. Thick, creamy baby making sperm. Sperm that's delivered deep inside her by the repeated spasms of my angry cock. Milky ejaculate. Rushing to fill her. And when I've finished, when the last jacking of my cock is done, I collapse atop her, my face buried in her comforting bosom. Later, as the panting of our breath finally starts to subside I reach up and kiss her. "You were supposed to take it out. Before you came." But there's no real complaint in her words. "I'm going to put my baby in you, a Scouries baby," I answer. My penis, still hard, is still inside her, plugging her so that my sperm can't ooze out from between her legs. She shakes her head no but still asks, "What happens then? In the story I mean. Does he just disappear? Does she get pregnant? Does her husband find out?" I pull my sticky spear from her center. "He takes her home to bed," I answer. "Whose bed?" "Whose do you think?" I ask as I lift her from the table and swing her around in my arms. "Mine?" Yes of course hers! I want to see where she lives... I want to fuck her in her husband's bed. 4 Angie's House 11:00 p.m. It's an attached two story brownstone in a recently yuppified area near the city center. An area that's home to the burgeoning population of young professionals who are increasingly running the city and America. "Where's the bedroom?" I ask the second we've closed the front door. At tour can wait, we're both thinking of only one thing. She points upstairs. The first time is as urgent as the sex we had in the boutique. Hard, deep fucking. Me on top. Her legs are up in the air and resting on my shoulders as I pump into her. Long, slow strokes, then short, hard, fast thrusts as our orgasms near. It's loud fucking. Dirty fucking. Wet fucking. Our next time she's lying on top of me, kissing me as she sinuously moves her hips over my impaled spear. We make love. Slowly. I fill her with more of my male seed. Much later. "Are you going to go now?" It's two thirty in the morning. I've ejaculated inside my little angel four times, five if you count the shop. We're both spent. Sweaty. Sticky. Happy. "No." "In the story doesn't the Italian lover leave?" "No," I answer as I curl my arms around her, "now go to sleep." We both eventually do. We wash each other in the shower when we finally get up the next morning. It's late, almost eleven and Angie has to be at work for noon. And she protests when I crowd into the shower with her five minutes later. But we fuck standing up as the water cascades over us. We don't talk as we dress. We're shy with each other as we cab towards her shop and work. "Will I ever see you again?" she finally asks as we pull up in front of her store. "I'll pick you up at eight," I promise as she hops out of the cab. Its five minutes past noon and she's late for work. "You will?" "We haven't finished the story have we?" I ask the now radiantly smiling young wife. "No we haven't," she agrees. "Did you think your Italian lover in the story was going to leave you after just one night?" "I didn't really think about-" "He'll be in town for two more nights." "He will?" Angie doesn't even try to hide her happiness. "And then of course the author has to decide what happens with the young lover. With Johnnie." "JOHNNIE! That's my lover's name?" she asks through the cab window. "Drive on driver," I instruct my cabby. A block later he asks, "Are you the Italian or the author or Johnnie?" There's a smirk on his face. Wednesday, February 11th 2009, Chicago, Illinois 5 Angie's House -- The Next Night "We could go out for dinner, somewhere fancy," I offer when I pick her up at the shop at eight. "I don't know. What if someone recognises me?" "Or we could pick up something, get some Chinese to go," I suggest. She quickly agrees. We stop and load up with boxes full of food. While I'm waiting Angie even ducks next door to a French bakery and buys us a chocolate cake for dessert. We're back at her house by eight thirty. "Come here," I say as I pull her toward me. We've just entered her kitchen. "Don't! I'll drop the cake," she protests with a happy giggle as I try to wrap my arms around her. I take it from her hands and put it on the counter top and then draw her back against me. Then kiss her even as my hands slip under her skirt. "The food will get cold." Another weak protest. I push her panties down her thighs. "JIIIIIM!" She's excited. "Right here on the kitchen table," I promise as I turn her and bend her face first onto the glass surface. "NO, Not here, not on the table." But her voice is excited and happy. And she's wet and ready when seconds later I push my freed cock up deep between her legs. After we're finished I sit her on my lap and we take turns feeding each other, take turns pushing finger laden morsels of food between the others lips. We're both naked. I'm still semi erect and can feel my sperm oozing out from her and down onto my thighs. I slide a sweet roll between her thighs. "Perv," she accuses as I bring the cum drenched tidbit to her mouth. Angie's Valentines Baby "Sweet and sour," I say with a grin. Her tongue flicks out. It is a very good dinner! "Bring the cake, we'll eat it in bed," I tell her after she's hopped off my knee, the boxes of Chinese food demolished by the hungry lovers. "We'll get crumbs on the sheets," she complains. But I've already turned and left the room. She finds me a minute later in the family den, facing a wall of pictures and holding one glass framed photo in my hand. Angie's carrying a tray laden with two giant slices of chocolate cake and the rest of our bottle of wine. "This Paul?" I ask when I feel her come up next to me. "Yes," his nude wife answers as she snuggles her body against mine. "Does he know how hot his wife is?" I put my free arm around her. "Yes." "Your wedding day," I reach for a second picture. "Uh huh." There's a wistful look on her face as she says it. They truly made a beautiful couple. "You love him don't you?" She doesn't answer, simply buries her cheek against my chest. My hand finds her breast. "Your parents?" I ask as I hold up another one. She nods yes. Then I point to another one, this time one of her parents with three children. "That was when I was nine, that's my little sister. My brother," she says to my questioning glance. I pick up another, this one a family shot from the wedding. "What's his name?" I ask as I point to the boy man at the left of the shot. I know it's her brother. "John ... he's just a year younger than me. Here's a picture we took just this past December, it was Johnnie's eighteenth birthday party." In it Angie is flanked on either side by her husband and her brother. So this is the famous Johnnie I think to myself as I look at the photo. Two men, both with almost matinee idol looks, are flanking an angel.. It's obvious from their expressions that they're both in love with her. Angie says nothing as I wander around the room examining every picture. I finally settle on two, both head and shoulders shots, pick them up and turn to leave the room. "Where are you going?" she asks to my back. "Put them back." "Bring the cake," I order as I go out the door. I'm in bed, naked, leaning against the headboard when she finally catches up. "Why'd you bring them?" "I want them to watch," I answer. "Watch what?" "An angel." "No, I don't want them watching." Angie tries to grab the picture from my hand but I quickly move it up and away from her reach. I set it on the bedside table. Then I reach for the one of Johnnie. He goes on the other table. They're flanking us, watching, waiting. I reach for the tray and scoop up a thick finger full of chocolate icing. Unmoving, Angie watches transfixed as I 'ice' my cock. "That's so gross." In response I push my icing streaked finger between her lips. "I'm not putting that thing in my mouth," she says when I finally pull my finger out. "Whipped Scouries cream goes perfectly with chocolate icing," I promise. She's smiling. "Besides, we definitely don't want to get any of this chocolate on your sheets do we? What would Paul say?" "I won't do it." But she's licking the icing my finger left on her lips as she denies me. And enjoying it. "And Paul and Johnnie are going to watch ... to make sure their little girl does a good job," I say as I put my hand on the back of her head and gently push her down. "Please Jim." "Kiss him." "No, I won't." But almost immediately her tongue flicks out and captures the drop of precum that's formed at the end of my cock. And then she puts her moist tongue at the base of my cock, on the underside, and slowly licks upward. And then she does it again. And again. And her husband watches as my penis is lathered in her saliva. And her little brother is still there watching when she slips her lips over my cockhead and takes me deep into her mouth. And they're both still watching when a forty year old author of erotic stories, a man who's been groaning out the name 'Angeeeee' as the married angel has orally ministered to his cock, finally starts to buck his hips and spew out his cream into the waiting mouth and throat. And when Angie finally releases my spent prick I pick up Paul's picture and bring it toward the sticky tip of my cock. Angie, her mouthh open, my sperm dribbling from the corner of her mouth, watches aghast, almost trancelike, as I rub my penis's sticky, sperm covered head across his photographed face. "Nooooooooooo!" She cries as she grabs the frame from my hands. "You better clean it," I say as she dips a finger into the small pool of sperm that's covering her husband's face. "You're disgusting." Lick it clean," I tell her and as she slowly brings her tongue to the sperm laden glass surface of the photograph I pick up Johnnie and bring him toward my cock. I set the glass framed photo on my thigh and then milk out a last thick, dollop of sperm from my penis. Angie turns just in time to watch the cum drop from its end and splatter on Johnnie's eyes. "You're a pervert," she accuses as she grabs the frame. I say nothing as her tongue cleans her brother's face. "Tell me about him," I finally say. "About who?" "Johnnie." "What about him? There's nothing to tell." "How big is his cock?" "What kind of question is that? He's my brother! How would I know? He has a girlfriend." The words gush out from her mouth in a torrent but can't hide the blush that's engulfed her cheeks. "As big as mine?" I ask as I capture one of her hands and bring it to my again growing penis. She struggles to escape but I don't let her. "I only saw it once," she finally whispers, her words muffled by my shoulder. I wait. "It was an accident. Mom called up and told me to wake him. But his door was open when I went to knock." "So you saw it?" "By accident. But there was absolutely no sex involved, none at all. And don't look at me that way. He's my brother. I'd never thought of him like that. NEVER!" "But then you did? After." "No I didn't. Not once. We never mentioned the incident." "That's why you gave up your boyfriend isn't it?" "No it isn't. It's because I met Paul. That's why I gave up my stupid boyfriend." "Was it big?" And as I ask I flip her on her back and roll on top of her, pinning her down. "No it wasn't." "Bigger than Paul's?" "Shut up!" she orders. In answer I push my penis inside her. "As big as mine?" "I don't know," she groans. "Maybe I should call him and ask." I reach for her cell sitting on the side table. "Don't you dare." Johnnie's cell is the third number listed on Angie's phone when I scroll down. "Please don't," she begs. I click his number. "It's ringing." "I don't want to talk to him. What'll I say?" "What do you normally say to him?" I put my head next to hers and hold the phone between our ears. We both hear her brothers first words, "Angie, is that you? Angie? Is something wrong?". "Angie, are you there," he repeats when his sister doesn't immediately answer him. I start to move my hips. He doesn't know his sister is getting fucked even as he talks. "I'm here," Angie finally manages. "You're okay? It's late. I thought-" "Did I wake you Johnnie? I didn't realise how late it was. Sorry. I'll call you tomorrow." "No wait. I'm glad you called. Just surprised. Where's Paul?" "He's out of town. Til Sunday. At the seminar ... he told you last week." "Oh yeah. So you're alone?" I'm only half listening as their conversation goes on. My penis, although not fully engaged yet, is claiming more and more of my attention as it moves slowly up and down Angie's tight sheath. Finally their conversation turns to Valentines Day. How Angie will be alone. And how Johnnie, who's taking his girlfriend out on the Friday night but not on Valentines Day itself (apparently she and her mom are off somewhere for the weekend), will also be free. He of course asks her out. "We'll just have dinner, it'll be fun," I hear him say. "You're my brother," Angie giggles back. I'm fucking her more urgently now. Eventually of course, after much giggling discussion, she agrees. As soon as she hangs up the phone I start to cum. And I can't help but wonder as my sperm floods inside her if she's thinking of me or her little brother. "I'm only going because he wants to discuss his girlfriend. He needs a woman's advice," Angie says later as we lay in each other's arms. "I'll bet he does. And a few other things." "He's my brother!" We don't talk about her brother or her husband the rest of the night -- we're too busy! Thursday, February 12th 2009, Chicago, Illinois 6 Our Last Night It's late, near midnight, and we've spent the last two hours in bed. Fucking. Hard, almost desperate fucking. We both know it's our last night. We're cuddled together, face to face, as we try to recover. I feel a tear slide off her cheek and onto my chest. "I love you," I whisper as I caress her hair. "You're bad. I didn't even want to be in your stupid story." "Paul will make a good father won't he? For my baby." "What if he finds out?" "He'll never find out." "He might." I continue to caress her hair and face. Soft loving caresses. "Blame Johnnie," I finally whisper. "That's disgusting!" "Turn over." "Why?" "You don't think your Italian lover is going to leave the story Angie without turning you over do you?" I ask as I flip her on her stomach. "What's he going to do?" "Europeans are famous for this," I answer as my hands slip onto her bum. "You're not European!" she squeals. I ignore her, instead I slip a finger up against the tightly puckered opening. "JIM!" I say nothing. I slip my finger inside. "I don't do that. Paul's never-" "I'm not Paul," I answer as I reach for the lube with my free hand. Angie had a virgin bum before she met me. Not now. "Don't put that part in the story, the bum part," she says later as she leans back against my chest. We're sitting in the bathtub, surrounded by bubbles. "Can I write about how I fucked your breasts?" "You didn't." "Not yet," I whisper into her ear as my soapy hands close around her tits... Leaving a lover is always hard and the next morning was no exception. Angie cried. I wanted to. "Call me. Tomorrow night," I tell her through the car window. "Call you? When?" "After your date with your brother." "It's not a date!" "I put my number in your cell. Call me no matter how late." "Why?" "And there's a present for you on the hall table." "A present?" "To wear on your date. I love you," I say as I push down the accelerator. I'd left her the black, floral lace bra and panties she'd modeled for me the first night. The ones I told her she'd be wearing when the young lover took her in my story. As I drove north I wondered how young Johnnie would do. Sunday, February 15th 2009, Madison, Wisconsin 7 Valentines Night 2:30 a.m. "Hi," I answer after picking up the phone from the bedside table. "I didn't wake you?" Angie whispers. "Happy Valentines Day," I whisper back while looking over at the sleeping form next to me, her lush nudity clear in the moonlight that's streaming into the room. I lean over and kiss a nipple. She doesn't stir. I slip out from under the silk sheet and roll out of bed. "No, I've been eagerly awaiting your call," I answer as I walk out of the bedroom and down the hall. "I didn't disturb you?" I smile at Angie's curiosity. "Tell me about your date." "It wasn't a date! He's my brother. We just had dinner." "Is he as big as me?" "He just wanted to discuss his girlfriend that's all. You're a pervert." "Did he like your underwear?" "He didn't see it." "Liar. Did you tell him your other lover bought it for you?" "So what about yoooour sister? What did you and she doooo tonight? Maybe we should talk about that." "C'mon, tell me," I order. And in the end and over the next forty-five minutes she did. In great detail. But I promised Angie that I wouldn't write what she told me that night. She told me she's planning on eventually writing the story and submitting it to Literotica herself. So you'll have to wait a bit for all the juicy details. And they are juicy... The Baby I went home to Miami on the following Tuesday. And quickly settled back into my normal routine. I didn't hear from Angie until one day in late April I opened my e-mail and found an anonymous feedback e-mail on my latest story. It read: I loved your story. I'm ten weeks pregnant. Paul's ecstatic. So is Johnnie. You were right; it is possible for a woman to love two men. Maybe even three! .....Angie And over the following six months we corresponded intermittently until on November 10th, exactly nine months to the day after I had wandered into a lingerie shop on Michigan Avenue in Chicago, Illinois, I received a picture of a just born, seven pound, eleven ounce bundle of joy. And over the following week I received a series of pictures. Pictures the mother of my child sent me surreptitiously. Pictures of Angie and the baby. Of Paul and the baby. Of Johnnie and the baby. Of the baby breastfeeding. Of my baby. Of my beautiful baby. Who was going to be raised by another man. Some readers might read this story and then say to themselves, 'You're a bastard Scouries for fucking another man's wife'. All I can say is that you weren't there. No man in the world wouldn't have wanted her. I loved her. Still do. Some of you might blame Angie, call her a 'slut' or a 'whore'. She's not! She's a wonderful and kind woman who'll make Paul a perfect, loving wife and at the same time be a fantastic mother to his child. Some of you may pity Paul. DON'T! He's lucky. He has a wife who loves him. And he doesn't have to go through the agonizing process of acknowledging his infertility. Of having his manhood questioned for the rest of his life. He has a child. Thursday, February 11th 2010, Chicago, Illinois 8 Marriott Hotel Room #1522 It's been three months since the birth of my child. Twelve since I last saw Angie. I'm on my way back to Wisconsin to celebrate Valentines Day 2010 with my sister. But first I'm going to meet my daughter. I don't say anything when I open the door, instead I simply pull Angie into my arms. "Careful, the baby," she cautions. She's holding the bassinet in her left hand. I kiss the mother of my daughter. A long, hard, needy kiss. A lover's kiss. When we finally break apart, when our moist probing tongues have reluctantly left the others mouth, Angie carefully lifts her child up into her arms. "I shouldn't even introduce you to this guy," she cautions her daughter. "He's a bad man," she adds as she holds out and offers me my child. Tears are sliding down my cheeks as I plant a soft kiss on my baby's lips. I know that this afternoon may be the last time I'll be able to acknowledge my parenthood. We make love. There's no hesitation by either of us. Something that produced something as perfect as the baby can't be bad. It can't be wrong. "We've decided we'd like to have at least three, maybe four in all," Angie says after we've finished. She's snuggled tightly in my arms. "Do you?" She nods. "And who's to be-" She doesn't let me finish. "Don't you think it would be better if they all had the same father?" "Much," I agree, a smile exploding into life on my lips. "We were thinking that we should have the second one about eighteen months after the first." I start to calculate in my head. "So you'd have to get pregnant sometime around August," I offered. "Uh huh," she answers. "I usually come back up to Wisconsin in the summer. The whole family tries to get together at the lake." "You could come up a week early," Angie says. Yes I could. And I will... THE END This is an official VALENTINES DAY CONTEST entry -- please vote for this story and others in the contest. It's you the reader who'll decide the winner. And LITEROTICA has just unveiled their new comment system -- why not try it out and send me a comment. Let me know how you liked the story. Or what you think about adultery. Or tell me your experiences. Was I unfair to Pau? Or was he lucky? Have you ever made love to someone 'out of the blue' like I did that day? Thanks for reading my story and I hope all of you have a happy and sex filled Valentines with someone you love. jim