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Message-ID: <38851asstr$1035079803@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Homer Vargas <vargas111@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Personal Examination Repost (MC, Mdom, Fdom, preg)
Date: Sat, 19 Oct 2002 22:10:03 -0400
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Personal Examination
Homer Vargas
Vargas111@hooyahooya.com
MC, Mdom, Fdom, preg
Point of View: Third Person
Redistribution: No restriction except that the story
may not be changed/edited and the title, author's name
and email, and request for feedback must remain
intact.
Summary: The doctor of "The Examination" series gets
some of his own medicine.
First Posted 1/22/99
Last Edited 10/20/02


Although this story is somewhat self contained, it
ties up loose ends from four earlier stories, of the
"Examination" series.  If you have not read the
others, you will probably want to postpone this one
until you have read, preferably in order,  "The
Examination," "On Further Examination," "Wonder
Woman's Examination," and "Examination of a NAG."

Personal Examination 
by Homer Vargas


Dr. James Bock moped about the clinic, making everyone
feel even worse than they did anyway.  All the women
had loved Janet.  Long after she withdrew from the
practice to bear and care for James's and her four
children, she remained a mother hen to the women of
clinic staff.  No one could understand why Janet
allowed herself to become obese; it seemed beyond even
James's ability to control.  Thin before her first
pregnancy, Janet added more and more weight as James
made her pregnat with James Jr., Clive, Sophia, and
Susana  in quick succession.  With increasing weight
came less activity leading to still more weight gain.

A heart attack, unexpected, massive, definitive, had
taken her.  James's sadness affected Amaka most of
all.  As her culture and human feeling dictated, she
had stepped in to see to James's and Janet's children.
 The house Mamma kept for her and her own brood was
small, but Mamma's heart was large and she smothered
the little orphans with affection.  They would be OK. 
It was James that worried Amaka.

The relation between a man and woman is mysterious,
Amaka thought.  "Good" marriages sometimes are hell
from the inside.  Men and women cling to partners that
"everyone" knows are wrong for them, bound by love,
desire, custom, who knows what?  Amaka did not pretend
to know what had gone on between James and Janet.  It
was another universe from the one she and James
inhabited.  In theirs, James was her master and father
of her children, as he was Janet's, but he was also
her friend, business partner, and lover.  Amaka felt
herself married to James even though he went home to
Janet every night and was married to neither woman. 
James made love to Amaka at the office frequently,
usually more than once daily, more frequently, Amaka
believed, than he made love to Janet, especially after
she grew fat.  In a way it was like the culture of her
childhood homeland in which James had Janet as his
Senior wife and Amaka was his Junior. wife.  The
passion seemed gone from his relationship with Janet,
only love, duty, or whatever it was that bound him,
lingered.

Amaka was, therefore, surprised that Janet's death had
so devastated James.  Only with immense will did he
attend to clients, leaving Amaka to do virtually all
of the seduction and conditioning of the women who
continued to be sent to the clinic in increasing
numbers.  Certainly Janet's death affected their love
making.  The joy, the passion on the now infrequent
occasions was gone.  Amaka felt James had transferred
to her the obligatory sex he formerly had with his
deceased partner.

James stopped having sex with the other women of the
clinic completely.  It hurt them all, but especially
Suzie and Megan, the youngest women who were highly
sexed.  Amaka made a few adjustments in James's
conditioning of them so that they could at least find
some release in sex with each other, but she could not
erase their desire for James himself.

This could not go on.  It would not be easy.  She
might not succeed.  But she had to try.

When James halfheartedly suggested sex with her in the
office the next Friday evening, Amaka for the first
time said no.  She waited to see if he would just take
her.  If he wished, he could fill her with an
overpowering desire that would make refusal
unthinkable.  He could make her body move at his
pleasure even if her mind remained unconvinced.  His
did neither, but only looked at her, puzzled.

"Pick me up at my house  Saturday night at 8:00,
darling.  I've made plans for dinner.  It's rather
formal," she smiled.  Again Amaka waited to see if he
would go along.  If he didn't want to, he could just
make her forget all about the arrangements.  She had
guessed right.

"OK.  Why not?" James  grinned back, almost shyly.  It
was the first smile of any kind Amaka had seen since
Janet's death.

Saturday was a busy day.  A lot was riding on this
night, the happiness not only of her and James, but of
many others.  James could make many things right, or,
if she failed, leave dozens of people, himself
included, in misery.  Amaka was glad she was a woman. 
She had the insight and, she hoped, the charms to make
it happen.

Amaka understood that James felt guilty about Janet's
death, but perhaps even more about her life.  He had
used his powers, not maliciously, but irresponsibly. 
He had only just stumbled onto his strange ability
when he met Janet.  She was the first woman whose life
he had remade.  Although Janet must have loved James
over and above his power over her and though she had
lived for the children she had borne him, her life had
been wrenched too far from her own goals.  James
probably never thought he would fall in love with the
woman whose life he had turned upside down.  James
could give janet unbelievable pleasure, but he
regretted he could make her totally happy.  Now he
never could.

Most of James clients were probably happier for his
interventions in their lives, but there were a few who
had also suffered from James's use of his powers. 
Amaka suspected that Janet's death had reminded James
of his culpability in those cases, too.  He needed to
face what he had done and repair the damage if
possible, but he had to get beyond it without hating
himself.  That was her task. 

The element of surprise would be important. 
Fortunately, James knew Amaka only as a beautiful, if
exotic, woman who had fallen somewhat accidentally
into his power.  Typically for a man, he had not been
too curious about the woman who had shared her body
with him for the last four years.  It was time he
learned some things.

****

"He has to fall in love with me, Mamma," Amaka
explained.

"He already loves you, child."

"That's what he thinks, too, but not totally.  I want
it all.  Give me juju, Mamma."

"It's dangerous girl.  Juju could make you evil and
manipulative."

"No, Mamma.  Just give me the good juju"

"Juju isn't good or bad, Amaka.  It draws its power
from what is in your heart.  If your motives are even
a little bad, the juju will root in that evil and it
will be multiplied many fold."

"I have to try, Mamma."

"Oh, Amaka!  Are you sure?"

"I'm sure, Mamma."

"Amaka you are my first-born daughter.  I can't
believe anything bad of you.  If you want to risk
using juju, I will do as you say."  

Mamma went to the corner and pulled a key from her
bosom to unlock the ancient chest.  Carefully she
withdrew several small carved wooden objects.  Amaka
knew what she had to do and had brought out candles,
arranging them in an ellipse with a mat in the center.
 Amaka stripped and lay naked, perfectly still on the
mat, waiting.  Mamma went round the ring of candles,
lighting each and repeating a chant.  Then she danced
around the circle of burning tapers, rolling her ample
hips and singing softly, before stepping across the
invisible threshold.  With great precision, Mamma
passed one and another of the idols over Amaka's body.
 The final one she passed three times around each
breast and three times around Amaka's mound, intoning
the age-old ritual.  When she finished Amaka was
deeply entranced.

Mamma smiled down at her sleeping daughter, the mother
of her four grandchildren; Amaka was still her little
girl.  "Time to get up, honey.  Let's do something
with that hair.  You need some practical juju, too."

It hurt when Mamma knotted Amaka's hair into scores of
tight plaits.  Into each she wove in a piece or two of
tinsel.  It was a five hour job, but when she
finished, both women were pleased with the results. 
Amaka went to her bath and soaked a long while,
allowing the oils and unguents to be absorbed by her
soft skin.  When she emerged, she glowed.

Naked, Amaka went to her closet and removed a garment
from a back shelf where it had remained for years,
awaiting such an occasion.  The noble fabric responded
to the touch of an iron and became as new.  Amaka
slipped on a diaphanous blue brassiere and a pair of
navy thong panties and began to dress.  First came a
light blue Ero blouse.  Then she carefully wound the
Ukmoh around her shapely hips and drew the top in the
same fabric over her breasts and shoulders.  It took
several adjustments to get the scalloped hem even with
her ankle bones as Mamma had taught her.  Mamma helped
coil the matching Ubaletu around her shining black
plaits and fluffed it until it added four or five
inches to her height.  Matching blue open-toed sandals
with a four inch heel finished the job.  Amaka
examined herself in the mirror approvingly while Mamma
looked on with pride.  The craft of five hundred
generations of African women had perfected this look. 
She would be irresistible.

Mamma opened the door for James and ushered him to the
tiny living room to wait.  Perhaps she was unaware of
the psychology of making a man a little impatient
before Amaka made a dramatic entrance.  James was just
slightly startled when Amaka greeted him from the
doorway,  "Good evening, darling."

James was stunned.  Amaka had been working for him
over four years.  He had been fucking her exactly as
long, although they had been making love for a shorter
period.  He had seem her daily.  He had seen her in
cute mini skirts, in elegant tailored suits, in the
sexy smocks she wore around the office, in hot pants
and bikinis, and of course in nothing at all.  Now as
looked at her, it was if he had never laid eyes on
her, never.

Could this be the woman he worked with every day?  No,
standing before him was a princess or a queen.  An
empress or a goddess!  James could not take his eyes
off the vision that had addressed him.  Speech was
impossible.  His eyes caressed her from head to foot. 
The garment she wore was a deep yet somehow brilliant
blue, a blue of sky that can only be seen from high
mountain tops at twilight.  Unsurprisingly, in that
crepuscular background, gold studs and inlays sparkled
like the first stars in the firmament when the sun has
not yet yielded his dominion to night.  A headdress of
the same resplendent cloth adorned her head.  The
light caught and thrown back by the inlays made it a
diadem.

James scarcely heard as Mamma told the elegant couple
to have fun, that the children would be fine and
ushered them out.  As she closed the door, she said
silent prayer to Chukwu Abioma, et Fillis, and the
Holy Spirit.

Amaka took James's arm and allowed him to escort her
to the car, open the door for her, and see that she
was seated.  Hardly daring to look at his beautiful
companion, James was heading in the direction of the
city before he remembered to ask where they were
going.  Amaka told him to drive to the river front. 
James was puzzled, knowing there were no restaurants
in that area.  Nevertheless, he let Amaka direct him
to park and lead him to the wharf.

A long ramp led to a brightly lighted deck of a dinner
cruse ship.  Amaka had timed their arrival well and
only minutes later the vessel weighed anchor and eased
into the deeper waters of mid river, quickly leaving
behind the built-up parts of the city.  Cocktails and
canapés soon gave way to a full dinner with dozens of
other couples.

James and Amaka didn't talk much over dinner; James
because he couldn't; Amaka because it wasn't
necessary.  As he gazed at her, not able to get his
fill of looking, the words and images of the classic
music video came back to him.  Like Whitney Houston,
Amaka could say, "I'm every woman; it's all in me." 
It was an epiphany; it was time to dance.

The band struck up a Latin beat and James and Amaka
took center stage on the floor.  As the combo pumped
out the Salsas and Meringues of Carlos Vives and
Niche, James marveled at his partner.  Of course her
dancing was superb.  But Amaka put a wiggle in her
hips and a subtle contortion into the movements of her
belly that reminded everyone of the Afro-Caribbean
origins of this music.

The panting couples were taking a break from hard
driving techno-rock when the ship reached its
southernmost point and swung round, allowing those on
both sides to view the long incline up on the Virginia
side towards Mt. Vernon, brilliantly illuminated for
the benefit of the dinner dancers.

On the way back, the orchestra wisely switched to
ballads of the '60s and '70s that put everyone in a
mellower mood.  As the liner pulled to within sight of
the Washington Monument, the music had drifted farther
back to Hoagie Carmichael and Cole Porter.  James was
holding Amaka very close and they swayed, almost
asleep in each other's arms, to the magical old
lyrics.

It was well past midnight when the last of the happy
couples descended the gangplank, most looking more at
each other than at where they were going.  James
thought Amaka had never felt softer, had never fit
more perfectly into his arms, as if she had always
been there.  If, that is, the world had even *existed*
before.  Was this not the first night of a newly
created Earth, a terrestrial paradise that might be
lost, but never again equaled?  James dreaded for this
night to end.  Reluctantly he pointed the car toward
Amaka's house in Southeast.

"Not that way, darling," she smiled.

James looked at the lovely woman at his side, not
knowing how to believe his good fortune.  He started
to ask her something, but Amaka stopped his lips with
a kiss.

"Home, James," she ordered.

Amaka seemed to have no shyness, walking into the
stately suburban home James had shared with Janet. 
Without having to ask, she led James to the bedroom. 
She allowed him to watch as she removed the Ubaletu
and shook her plaits free.  He stared in fascination
as she untied the Ukmoh and let it drop to the floor. 
He didn't have to wait long before in bra, panties and
heels, she began undressing him.

They made love.  James had believed he had made love
to Amaka many times.  He now realized that he was
wrong.  They had only had loving, tender sex.  It had
been wonderful sex, but nothing like this.  "James,
James, oh my love!  Oh my love, James," Amaka sobbed
between orgasms.

James could only repeat her name like a mantra,
"Amaka, Amaka, Amaka, Amaka" his voice, too, broken
with feeling as he thrust again and again deep into
the woman clinging to him.  "One flesh."  The old
Biblical phrase flashed into James's mind.  Until
tonight, it had always struck him as material and
crude.  Now he knew it was but a literal description
of what his and Amaka's bodies sought -- coupling,
joining, fusion, a melting together, a perfect union.

A terrible tenderness came over James as he felt Amaka
drift off to sleep.  She lay cradled in his arms, so
perfectly trusting, snuggling closer as her breathing
grew soft.  Did any man deserve this trust; did he;
could he earn it?  He never wanted her to leave his
side.  As James drowsily held the now sleeping woman,
he realized that not only had he and Amaka never made
love before, they had never slept together.  "Sleep
together."  It was much so much more than a euphemism
for having sex.  It was a totally different way of
making love, one in which the elbows and the backs of
the legs, the knees and the shoulder blades, could
participate for hour after hour, long after the
genitals no longer touched.

The last thing James remembered before going to sleep
was Amaka's hair tickling his nose.  He could have
flicked it aside, but decided he would rather just
fold her into the crook of his body.

The first thing he saw in the next morning was Amaka's
smiling face.  Compared to this moment, he had never
been happy before.  Tears filled his eyes.  "I love
you so much, Amaka."

"And I love you," she replied.  "You are a good man,
James, worthy of a woman's love.  You must believe
that and not keep torturing yourself over Janet."

"But I ..." Amaka stifled his protest with a kiss.

"Whatever you did, Love, is done.  Janet left you four
children whom she loved above anything.  The best
thing you can do is give them their daddy back. 
Look!"

Amaka clapped her hands and two by two the children
filed in.  Amaka's children, being used to constant
coming and goings since they were babies, were more
outgoing than Janet's.  Ify led James Jr. by the hand
even though he was several months her senior.  Ijoma
tugged at the shy Clive.  Little Jerome and Sophia
were already best friends and playmates and followed
their brothers and sisters in without coaxing.  Mamma
entered last holding the babies, LeRoy and Susana.

As James looked from one to the other, he was consumed
by love for them all.  He knew that he had to remake a
life for them as well as for the wonderful creature
lying at his side.

"They're all *here*"  James stated, somewhat
foolishly, but Amaka understood what he meant.

"Of course, they're here, darling.  Mamma brought them
last night.  This is their home.  It's our home.  They
have a wonderful Mamma, but they need a mother and
father."

It took a few days to work out the sleeping
arrangements and a routine to get everyone bathed and
fed in the mornings and still permit James and Amaka
to get to the clinic by 10:00 AM or so.  The nature of
the practice changed.  James and Amaka became even
more equal partners.  Now they never took a client
just because his or her partner wanted a subservient
sex maniac.  They interviewed the couple carefully and
made the adjustments necessary, usually to both.

Amaka did not need to tell James what to do about the
ex-clients.  Over many weeks and months he made calls,
tracking down people and getting them into the clinic
for business, but within a year things were falling
into place.

*****

It had not been easy to locate Kathy Black.  James was
appalled at finding her in a housing project
struggling to support six children by four different
men.  When she heard Kathy's story, however, Kate
Jenkins of NAP (National Association of People) had no
trouble deciding she wanted Kathy to head up her legal
staff.  Kate was taking over more and more of the
day-to-day management of the organization formed by
merging NAG and NARN.  It allowed Bill time to stay
home and take care of the kids.  It was only fair; he
was the one who kept begging Kate to let him make her
pregnant "one more time."

Kathy was surprised how old Bob Atturbury had changed,
but after making him court her assiduously for several
months, she agreed to marry him.  Bob Atturbury could
have been their grandfather, but Pauline, Carlitos,
Chun and Chan, and Malcolm Jr. couldn't have been more
delighted.  The first real daddy they had ever known
read them stories, and played horsy, and could make an
elephant sound that never failed to set them giggling
hilariously.  This was so much more fun than running a
conglomerate, Bob turned his remaining interests over
to Trent.  He took Pauline and Carlitos to pre-school
and even found changing the diapers of little Martin
Luther hugely satisfying.

As much as he adored these children, however, Bob
wanted to have a baby with Kathy.  He begged her to
let him get her pregnant "just one more time."  Kathy
told him he must be out of his mind.  It could have
been cause for a row, but they loved each other too
much to argue over numbers.  "No way I'm going to
settle for just one baby with you!"  Reluctantly,
Kathy agreed to stop at three but hoped for a "happy
accident" or two later.

*****

When James called, Angelica supposed happily that he
had decided it was time to give her another child. 
She was puzzled when, instead, he asked her to send
Robert to the clinic for another visit.  Wonderful
"after sales service," she laughed to herself in the
days and nights that followed.  Angelica loved the
improvements she saw in Robert.  He was as sweet as
ever, but seemed somehow more imaginative in his
lovemaking.  He no longer just waited around to please
his ever-horny wife, but took more initiative, fucking
her at times and in places that Angelica wouldn't have
thought of.  Angelica would have to thank James
personally when she saw him next.

Another motive for seeing James intervened.  "What's
going on, James?  I've missed my period." Angelica
demanded, more than a little annoyed.

"Do you need to ask me what that means?" James
replied, amused.

"It's not funny, James" Angelica snapped.  "Why treat
me like that?  I never deny you.  I love letting you
get me pregnant.  There was no reason to get me down
to the clinic, impregnate me, and then make me forget
the whole thing!"

"You haven't been to the clinic, Angelica and I didn't
get you pregnant.

"Then who did?"

"How should I know?" James teased.  "Have you been
sleeping around?"

"No, you bastard, only with ..."  She stopped and
rapidly counted the days.  She HAD been ovulating soon
after Robert's visit to James's clinic.  A look of
consternation spread over her face.  "But that's
impossible."

"I reversed Robert's vasectomy, Angelica, and told him
about our now defunct arrangement.  I'm sure Robert
will be very happy to find he's going to be a father
for the first time."

"My God!  But I'm as horny as ever.  So from now on
I'll have to take precautions?  As often as I need to
fuck, I'll stay pregnant all the time!"

"That's up to you, but don't expect too much help from
Robert.  Under the circumstances I can bet he will be
wanting to make up for lost time."

*****

Malcolm Foster was mad as hell.  He had been waiting
in this damned woman doctor's office for forty five
minutes.  He could be out on the street dealing.  This
delay was costing him money, over $1500, but it
couldn't be helped.  He wasn't here of his own free
will.

Everything had started going wrong for Malcolm several
months back when his favorite woman, that horny white
bitch named Kathy had been snatched out of his life. 
He had had made with that woman.  She craved sex and
by giving or withholding his woman pleaser, he had
made her a virtual sex slave.  The oversexed slut had
learned to cook for him better than any of his black
girlfriends and she had let him make her pregnant
twice.  Malcolm had been thinking it was time to start
her working on another little bastard when everything
changed.  He didn't underhand how she suddenly was
able to laugh off his bullying and then get some rich
white man screwing her.  Even before the old bastard
married her, he installed Kathy in a fancy apartment
with security that didn't let Malcolm in.

Malcolm though his luck had turned when Horse Jones
and the other four Wizards starters showed up at his
house one day.  He quickly learned his mistake.  It
was funny, they seemed to know all about him.  "Kathy
tells me you like white girls," Horse said a little
menacingly.

"Sure, Bro'," Malcolm replied nervously.  "Them white
bitches really likes a nice big piece of black meat."

"And I believe you've said that you like to 'get a
horny a white woman so addicted to my cock she'll let
me make her pregnant,' or words to that effect?" asked
"Jumper" Bradford

"Uh ...  sure," Malcolm answered truthfully, but
growing apprehensive about this line of questioning.

"Well, that real convenient," remarked Rufus Prescott

"Because we've got just the girl for you." continued
"Apple" Appleby

"Drop those pants, my friend.  Let's see if you've got
what it takes to keep a hungry woman satisfied,"
Jumper ordered.  Malcolm was a big man, but no more
than any one of these five LARGE black men surrounding
him.  He decided to comply.  The team made a quick
assessment of Malcolm's crotch assets and went into a
huddle.

"It's worth asking her, I guess," said Rufus.

"Come in here, Ethel, baby," Apple called.  "What do
you think?"

A thin redhead in hot pants appeared in the door. 
Ethel Patterson appraised Malcolm carefully, paying
especially close attention to the zone between his
legs, then grinned.  "I'll take him."

"Looks like you've got yourself a new girlfriend,"
smiled Horse.

"What you talkin' 'bout, man?" Malcolm objected,
looking over the woman who was looking him over. 
"That ain't no woman. that's a scarecrow!  Look at
her!  Hell, I've seen bigger tits on a gnat.  And her
rear end!  There ain't  enough meat on her scrawny ass
for a man to sink his teeth into." Malcolm protested.

"Sorry you feel that way," Rufus frowned.  "We were
hoping to find someone to take a very enthusiastic
lady off our hands.  Coach says she's wearing us out,
affecting our play."  The others nodded in agreement.

"What's going on?" Ethel objected.  "You told me you
knew someone who could keep me happy."

"He will, baby.  He will," Apple reassured her.  "Just
be patient.

"You obviously don't know a good thing when it looks
you in the eye, my friend," Horse lectured with the
full support of his team mates.  "You'll see things a
different way after a talk to a friend or ours. 
Here's the telephone number.  Ask for an appointment
with Dr. Bock and tell them Horse sent you."  Malcolm
had understood that he was not free to ignore the
suggestion.  That's why he was sitting here, in this
funny looking room, waiting to see some dumb *women's*
doctor.

"You can come in now, Mr. Foster." said a tall
beautiful back woman.  Malcolm again thought his luck
was about to change.  This time, he was right.

****

Several weeks later Malcolm was lying somewhat dazed
and exhausted, looking up into the shining eyes of the
lithe redhead who straddled him.  It always amazed him
that a woman who weighed no more than Ethel could
*drain* him the way she did.  No matter how many times
he made her cum, she kept demanding more and more
until he was a noodle.  "Oh, is that all, baby?" Ethel
asked, never able to hide completely her
disappointment when Malcolm petered out.  "Is my
'tweet chocolate Popsicle all tired-y poo?" she
continued, slipping into baby talk.  Malcolm was
drifting off.  "Sweetie," she asked pensively.  "How
would you like doing me doggie?"

It was like mentioning food to someone after a big
meal.  Malcolm groaned.  The woman was insatiable! 
"Oh, baby, I'd love to, but not right *now*."

"Oh, I know that.  Right now my tired little boy is
going to take a long nappy so tomowow he will be big
and stwong again," Ethel reassured, obviously
referring more to Malcolm's limp cock than to him.
"Mamma Ethel means would you like to do her the doggie
way all the time for the last month or two?"

Malcolm had been having trouble paying attention. 
Even when she didn't have him fucked out, Ethel's baby
talk made him sleepy, but the implication of her
question suddenly brought him fully awake.  He looked
up at her, his eyes wide with surprise.  If she
weren't a proper wife, the expression on Mrs. Ethel
Foster's face would have to be called a shit-eating
grin.

"'That's right.  You naughty boy.  'You put that big
old black baby-maker in your brand new little white
bride once too often during our honeymoon.  Now you'll
just have to suffer the consequences!" she teased.

Malcolm was too happy to say anything as Ethel looked
down at him, as if awaiting his reply.  "Ouuuh!" she
brightened.  "I'll take that as 'yes,'" she said and
began to hump up and down again on Malcolm's reviving
cock.  "Uuu," Ethyl moaned in pleasure, "I believe you
LIKE fucking my pregnant pussy.  Guess we can arrange
that."

*****

"Hell, no!  I'm not paying more than 6 cents a MCF for
Bangladeshi gas.  If they don't want to sell at that
price, tell them *they* can build the damned
pipeline!" Trent Atturbury snapped, punching off his
cellular so hard it might be damaged.  Life was funny,
he thought.  The last thing he ever expected in life
was being saddled with his father's business.  Unless
it was enjoying the hell out of it!  Trent had wanted
to be a writer, moving words around on paper.  Moving
men and money around the world turned out to be much
more fun!

The turn of events in Trent's life was almost
unbelievable.  First his father had gone off the deep
end over Kathy, an old girlfriend of his, a welfare
mother with a houseful of children.  Then Daddy
decided to chuck the business and turn everything over
to him so Daddy could play daddy to Kathy's kids and a
growing number of his own rug rats.  The horny old
goat had just gotten Kathy pregnant for a fourth time!

As a condition of giving Trent control of a
multi-billion dollar empire, however, Daddy had
insisted Trent see some kind of psychologist, a Ms.
Amaka Ebe, to "put some spine" in his formerly
wishy-washy personality.  Well, wishy-washy he was no
longer, at least not in the office.  Better still,
however, through Amaka, Trent had met an incredible
woman!

Ayo was a member of Amaka's family.  Trent didn't
understand exactly what the relationship was.  Months
ago he had accepted  Ayo's advice that their liaison
remain a secret among his business colleagues.  "I'm
not a woman you take out,"  she had told him with a
grin.  "I'm a woman to come home to."  He knew what
she meant.  Not that she was black and he was white;
he would have killed anyone who made *that* an issue,
but the difference in their ages and her girth would
have raised some eyebrows.  Ayo had the body of a
woman who had lived and loved quite a few years longer
than Trent.  She was built on the "Aunt Jemima" model
-- the original, not the new Naomi Campbell
look-alike.

No one knew it, but Ayo was his other half.  Outgoing
where Trent was withdrawn, passionate when he was too
analytic, patient when he would jump to conclusions,
keeping in mind the big picture where he could be lost
in detail.  Ayo knew nothing about the oil and gas
business, but she had saved his company from several
big mistakes with her insights.

Most important, Ayo loved Trent.  She loved him enough
to make him tell her everything.  When she asked, "How
was work?" she expected, and got, a full, blow by blow
recounting.  She beamed with pride at Trent's
triumphs, grew angry or dismissive of his conflicts,
comforted him in occasional failures.  Whatever
happened, she was on his side, encouraging him, having
more faith in him than he sometimes had in himself. 
Whether in happiness or despair, Ayo always told him
he was wonderful and made him believe it by making
love to him. hot, heavy, passionate love.

Nothing ever seemed to dampen Ayo's spirits, so when
Trent found her crying one evening, he was more than
surprised; he was alarmed.  He had never needed to
comfort her before.  It was not easy to take the large
woman into his arms, but her consternation made her
slip into his embrace.  She lay her head on his chest
and sobbed.  "Oh, Trent, darling, I'm so sorry. 
Please forgive me.  I didn't intend for it to happen;
you've got to believe me.  I'm afraid of what you'll
say and I'll do it if you tell me to, but it's wrong
and I don't want to."

"Ayo, Ayo.  What's wrong?  What could you possible
have done to need my forgiveness?  Did you damage
something?  That Bukara in the living room?  Don't be
silly.  This is now your house as much as mine."

"No Trent, it's not the carpet; it's ... it's
everything.  I've messed up.  I just didn't think it
could still happen; I thought I was too old."

"Ayo, honey, you're not making sense.  What do you
mean you thought you were 'too old,' that you've
'messed up everything?'"

"Our life, Trent.  I messed it up by getting pregnant
with your baby and I don't want to get an abortion. 
Please let me keep it.  I'll move out and never bother
you about it, but please let me keep your baby."  Her
words poured out in a single breath.

Trent looked at her for a moment as he absorbed what
she had said, them let out a yelp.  "Oh, Ayo, honey! 
This is the most wonderful news you could have given
me.  I was worried something was wrong with ME.  You
don't know how jealous I've been of James and your
niece or whatever she is.  They've got four already
and she expecting again.  Now we are going to have a
baby, too."

Ayo looked up at Trent, relief and adoration in her
still tear-filled eyes.  "You mean it?  You want to
have a baby?  With a big old woman like me?  You want
to make me fatter?"

"You are not 'fat,' Ayo.  You're round, and every
pound you've put on since you were Amaka's age had
gone to places men like to see them.  If the baby
takes after you, we're going to have the handsomest
boy or the most gorgeous little girl imaginable.  Whom
have you told?"

"Nobody, I was afraid you'd make me ..."

"You don't know me as well as you think, if you
believed I would let you, much less make you abort a
baby, even if the baby were not mine.  Case closed. 
Get up and call Amaka to tell her she's going to have
a new little cousin."

"What do you mean, 'cousin?'  Don't you know, Trent? 
Amaka's not my niece, she's my daughter.  She's going
to have a new little brother or sister."

"Ayo, this is so wonderful!  Yesterday I was an
unattached though spoken for male; now I'm going to be
a father.  And I guess if I'm Amaka's father-in-law,
then I've got grandchildren!  There's just one more
thing I need."

"What are you talking about?" Ayo asked, amused by
Trent's strange, expansive ideas of family ties.

"I need a wife."

*****

Bloody inconvenient, Col. Steve Trevor thought.  Not
that he was unhappy that his wife was pregnant again. 
He loved seeing Diana, who was so active and trim,
gradually slow down and plump up when she was having a
baby.  He even loved making love to her when she was
pregnant; at least he supposed he did.  All he could
actually remember from their nights together was lying
at her side, stroking her swollen belly, gently
sucking and kissing her laden tits and sometimes
tonguing her to one orgasm after another.  But they
must make love.  Steve Jr., two, Drucilla, one, and
Diana's expanding belly was proof of that.

Still it was bloody inconvenient.  Why did it have to
happen that every time he decided to give Wonder Woman
another baby, Diana turned up pregnant, too?

*****

Paul Graves was surprised to get a call from a Dr.
James Bock.  It took him a minute to recall the
strange doctor who a few years ago had fixed that
junior partner in his firm so she would fuck him. 
Kathy, he seemed to remember her name.  She had really
been hot, couldn't get enough of him when the doctor
got through with her.  He had enjoyed her until he got
her pregnant and he had moved on.  That was about the
time that Betty had found out about his affairs.  She
had walked into Paul's office one afternoon to find
his secretary carefully positioned over an arm chair
with Paul fucking her like blazes.

Funny, after Betty had divorced him and he was free to
screw any woman he wanted to, it turned into a bore. 
Finding them, telling them the same damned funny
stories, taking them to the same restaurants and back
to his apartment, fucking them for a few weeks, and
then getting rid of them -- always the most difficult
part -- where was the fun in that?.  Sometimes he even
missed Betty.  She was certainly a lot more
interesting to talk to that the bimbos he picked up.

This was pretty strange.  The doctor suggested they
meet at a downtown club.  Paul was inclined to say no,
but James suggested he had a new woman he wanted to
introduce to Paul.  What the hell?  Paul agreed.  He
had never been very good at guy-to-guy talk, but he
found that after a few beers, it was really easy to
open up to Dr. Bock, to James.  Paul was telling James
things he never had really thought of before -- how
tired he was of the meaningless conquests of airheads,
 how he missed his children.  How he even missed
having a woman who was his equal, who looked out for
his interests, who would tell him he was full of shit
when he was, who didn't think his beer belly "was
cute."

"I've got just the woman for you" James said.

Perhaps there was some surreptitious signal or perhaps
it was Kismet.  Just then Paul Graves glanced over
towards the entrance of the club and saw her standing
there.  At first he didn't recognize her.  His eyes
met hers and his mouth dropped.  Slowly she walked
toward him.  It was Betty, but ... but ... Paul had
never seen her like this, at least not for years.  She
had on a tight-fitting off-white dress cut five or six
inches above her knee.  The matching heels gave a roll
to her hips that drove him crazy.  As she drew closer
he noticed the kind of large, flashy earrings he had
wanted her to wear for years.  Since the last time he
had seen her, she had lost inches around the waist
without reducing her ample hips and eye-popping boobs.
 If "babe" could be applied to a woman almost fifty,
Betty was a babe.

Paul was so struck by seeing Betty again he hadn't
noticed she wasn't alone.  "Good evening, Paul, James.
 May I introduce my friend, Arnold," she lilted.

A tall muscular blonde stuck out his had to shake. 
"Hi." he smiled.

Paul was struck silent again.  As he shook hands with
the young man he tried to place the face.  He had seen
it before.  My God!  This was the himbo that had
appeared on TV with Sen. Finger.  Instantly everything
was clear.  Betty had gotten herself sexy as hell
again and now had this hunk fucking her lights out.

"Hello, Arnold.  What is your line of endeavor?" Paul
said, trying to be civil.

The smile faded from the young man's face and he
looked at Betty for help.  "Arnold is a handy man,"
Betty explained.  "At least *I* find him very handy. 
Hope you're keeping well, Paul.  Now if you'll excuse
us ..."  With a wiggle in her hips, Betty took
Arnold's hand and led him away to a corner booth.

"Amaka is bringing your date.  I can't imagine what is
keeping them," James remarked.  Paul wasn't listening.
 He was staring through the dim light trying to see
what his wife, well, his ex-wife, was doing with the
young man.  They had been kissing for about two
minutes non stop and Betty was starting to squirm. 
Paul thought he could see Betty's short skirt rucked
up closer to her crotch as she spread her legs for the
boy.  From her movements it was pretty evident where
Arnold's hand had gone and what *it's* line of
endeavor was.  Presently, several other patrons
glanced over at the moans and grunts coming from the
couple in the corner booth where a woman in a short
white dress appeared to be having an orgasm.

"Ah, here they are," James boomed jovially, not
seeming to pay attention to the spectacle over in the
corner.  Reluctantly Paul turned his attention to
James and the two women who had just walked in.  One
was tall, black, and .very beautiful.  The other was a
shorter cute blonde about 25.

"Sorry we're late, darling," said the taller woman as
she kissed James.

"Paul, this is my wife, Amaka and this is Megan. 
Megan works in our office.

"I answer the 'phones for Dr. Bock." Megan put in
cheerfully.

Drinks arrived and James inched close to Amaka.  The
lovers began whispering softly to each other.  Paul
was left to pretend to listen to Megan's chatter as he
peered at the action in the corner booth.  James,
Amaka, and Megan were the only people in the club who
seemed oblivious to what was going on.  Betty had
thrown her head back on the seat.  Her eyes were
closed and sheer ecstasy rippled across her face.  Her
blouse was open and Arnold's face was buried in her
well endowed bosom.  If Betty had come with a bra, it
was no longer extant.  From the way her tits had
jiggled as she walked in, Paul was convinced she
hadn't worn one.  Arnold appeared to be sucking one
tit and then the other without removing his hand from
between Betty's legs.  She was whinnying in rut.

"You wanna dance?" Megan asked her distracted partner.
 He didn't, of course, but anything was better than
the torture of watching his wife, well, his ex wife,
getting fondled and finger fucked.  The music was some
strange mixture of keyboard with lots of electronic
rhythm, far too fast.  Paul didn't really know what to
do out on the floor.  The other dancers were just
gyrating.  Paul tried to gyrate, too, but didn't do it
as well as Megan.

Objectively speaking, Megan was a sexy little thing. 
She had big boobs that bounced in syncopation to the
music.  Paul didn't understand how she could dance
like that in what must have been five inch heels, but
supposed she'd had lots of practice.  The provocative
way her hips wiggled ought to have had him plotting
how to get her out of that ridiculous miniskirt and
his prick into her no doubt juicy little cunt.  She
was pretty, sexy, and not too bright -- just his type.
 But for some reason Paul felt no attraction to her at
all.  He would have been worried about his age and
hormone levels had he not realized he still had an
erection from watching Arnold orgasm his wife, well,
his ex-wife.

Because he wasn't good at this absurd excuse for
dancing, Paul was tiring rapidly just as Megan seemed
to be getting warmed up.  She was flinging one arm and
then the other into the air and letting out
intermittent, jungle-like cries.  Soon every man in
the club except James was staring.  Even Arnold took a
break from working on Betty's twat to gaggle.  Betty,
too, sitting up to see what had caused the
interruption in Arnold's wonderful service, grinned at
the sight.

Rapidly recovering from several nice cums during
twenty or more minutes of uninterrupted foreplay,
Betty nudged Arnold to lead her to the floor.  Arnold
was happy to comply as this brought him closer to the
wild little blonde.  If not being able to keep up with
the contortions of his partner was humbling for Paul,
seeing his wife, well, his ex-wife, get into an only
slightly less frenetic version of whatever Megan was
doing, was acutely embarrassing.  Where the hell had
the woman learned to dance like that?  When Betty
ground her hips and jiggled her tits, she had a lot
more to grind and jiggle than the girl.

Perhaps sensing that a riot might break out if the hot
little blonde's and her older companion's display of
blatant sexuality wasn't curbed, the band switched to
a '70s ballad.  Megan deflated like an untied balloon,
disoriented by the slower 6/4 beat.  Paul tried to
lead, but Megan was hopeless.  Glancing over, Paul saw
that Betty was in the same predicament.

"Do you mind?" Paul asked smoothly, dropping Megan's
hand and tapping the young man on the shoulder. 
Neither Arnold or Megan had ever heard of "cutting in"
but the maneuver went off without a hitch.  Arnold and
Megan were left staring at each other, not knowing
what to do, as Paul swept off with his wife, well, his
ex-wife.

"My god, what a spectacle you were making of
yourself!" Paul whispered between clenched teeth,
hiding his ire from the other dancers behind a broad
smile.

"What about yourself, *darling*?" Betty hissed.  "You
were perfectly ridiculous clomping around to a
techno-beat."

"I mean over at the booth!  At least she wasn't giving
me a blow job in public."

"Don't complain to me.  *You* were the one who had the
way with the ladies all these years."

"If you'd dressed and looked as hot as you do tonight,
I wouldn't have been chasing skirts."

"When did you ever invite me to a place like this,
where a woman who looks like a woman is appreciated?"
Betty shot back  "The only place you ever took me was
to those damned cocktail parties with your corporate
clients.  Anyway, looks like you have another woman
with the proportions you like."

"What do you mean 'propotions?'"

"I mean the little blonde.  Looks like her bust size
exceeds her age which exceeds her IQ."

"Don't say that, babe. You've got the proportions I
like."

The other dancers marveled as the suave gentleman and
his elegantly sexy dance partner glided around the
floor, unaware of the exchange of vituperation passing
between the smiling couple.

"Even from a slimeball, I'll take that as a
compliment, anyway.  Thank you." Betty continued,
slightly mollified.

"I mean it, babe.  I've never seen you looking so
good."

"Not having to put up with *you* has given me more
time to spend on myself," Betty explained, icily.

"Well, what can I say?  Did you had to leave me to
become the woman I've always wanted?"

"Why didn't you tell me about the woman you always
wanted?" Betty replied.

"Well, I did, didn't I?  I'm sure I told you I liked a
woman in heels and earrings and you don't need to be
told men like to see a woman's legs."

"You told me how you liked 'a woman' to dress.  You
never told me that you'd love to see 'me' dressed that
way.  I wanted to be your wife, Paul, not your whore. 
Why didn't you ever send me any of those flowers I
kept finding receipts for?"  Betty was sobbing softly
now and had snuggled into Paul's arms.

"Oh baby!  I was so stupid running after sex from all
those chicks, but I never loved anyone but you."

"Paul, darling, I wish I could believe that so much."

"Please, Elizabeth,  Come back to me, my love.  Give
me a change to prove I love you every day for the rest
of my life."

James and Amaka like everyone else in the club were
riveted on the couple standing in the middle of the
dance floor, no longer moving, crying into each
other's arms.  Amaka leaned over and kissed James
approvingly. Then she noticed Arnold and Megan over in
the corner booth.  Megan had thrown her head back on
the seat.  Her eyes were closed and sheer ecstasy
rippled across her face.  Her blouse was open and
Arnold's face was buried in her well endowed bosom. 
If she had come with a bra, it was no longer extant. 
Arnold appeared to be sucking one tit and them the
other without removing his hand from between Megan's
legs.  She was whinnying in rut.

Amaka leaned over and kissed James again.

The End - Really
Comments, please to:
Homer Vargas
vargas111@yahoo.com

I wish to acknowledge inspiration from "Downing
Street" and someone else who does not wish to be
acknowledged without blaming them for the execution.


=====
My stories are now found on
http://www.storiesonline.net (Thanks Lazeez) 
http://www.eroticstories.com (Thanks, Art)
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Vargas/www/stories.html (Thanks Kristen)

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-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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