Just One Drink (31 page)

And, well, what more can I possibly say?

The two of them promptly began fucking me from there on out, their delicacy in the handling of their pregnant pussy seeming to fly out the window altogether, and their thrusting turning fierce as hell as they clapped and smacked and smashed into my respective orifices with brutalizing speed, screams pouring from my throat and the sensation of the two penises grinding together inside me turning me on like you wouldn't fucking believe.

Their cocks overflowed into the throbbing pink orifices of my body, their sperm erupting with near simultaneity all over my inner anatomy, and drenching me with so much hot, sticky splooge that the accumulated stuff rolled back out of me, dripping onto the mattress, and setting me over the edge. I came like hell with the combined fury of vaginal and anal orgasms, the sensations pumping through my body like a drug and causing me to scream so loud that my lungs nearly fucking burst from the effort.

And at long, long, long last, when it was all over, the two of us lay entwined in the sticky, sweaty haze of the afterglow, making out wildly, our heads spinning, and my security renewed with the knowledge that, whichever of the two of them happened to be the father, the baby inside of me as well as its mother would almost definitely end up in good hands.

THE END

1

For the life of me, I just simply couldn't seem to believe what an amazing birthday this was turning out to be. I'd never, ever, really managed to enjoy anything remotely close to a happy birthday, and as I was getting older, it was becoming harder and harder to see these days as anything more than a continuation of my descent into old age. And I mean hell, for that matter, I wasn't exactly over the hill or anything, either. Just my late twenties, which wasn't at all the sort of age that a person should go around throwing in the towel.

But, I don't know. Maybe I just didn't feel like I'd gotten what I'd wanted out of life on a number of levels, and that made the prospect of aging seem more harrowing than it actually was. There were so many things I'd taken too long to get around to in life, and I came to regret it more and more with each passing year. For the longest time, I'd been something of a shy person, suffice it to say, and my plethora of inhibitions had always gone a long way in preventing the sort of life I'd really wanted for myself.

It was better now, I guess. Not perfect, not by any means, but I lived a happy enough life with my husband, and I had long since learned to appreciate the little things, the blessings that so often go overlooked by a person. I'd gotten through some of my shyness, and could at least enjoy life now, but days such as birthdays tended to emphasize just how much time I'd lost all the while.

But this year was different. This year, I didn't feel like I was getting old any more, and in fact I felt almost younger than ever in my present state of mind. I felt like I was really, actually celebrating the gift of being alive, living to the fullest for a change and simply taking things as they came along.

And I knew, with every fiber of my being, that it was my husband I had to thank for all of this, him and him alone, and in so many, many ways. At present, I stared at Charles across the table. Our dinner at this most exquisite of fine restaurant has been an amazing experience, and the man, sitting across from me, lit by candle light as he was, seeming almost angelic in appearance. We both had a reasonable amount of wine in our systems by this point, and before our server had returned with our meals, we'd spent a great amount of the evening playing footsies with one another underneath the table.

I was, suffice it to say, getting very, very hot for my immaculate love by this point in the evening. Leering over at him with a pair of unmistakable bedroom eyes, my nostrils flaring, and my body squirming and shifting into very suggestive positions so as to lure him into me- as though he really needed enticing at this point, because I could tell by his demeanor that he was about as eager to take me when we made it home as I was to be taken by him.

God, I had so much to thank this man for. So much of what had at last gone right for me in life were a result of him stepping into the picture, and taking me under his wing, so to speak, when no one else seemed able to break me out of my shell.

I'm not sure what it was, exactly, that had always kept me so quiet and unassuming before. I mean, for that matter, I guess there doesn't have to be a real reason for that sort of thing. Some days I liked to blame the extremely conservative manner in which I was raised, or any number of other circumstances in my life. But I knew that no such factors would ever fully account for the way I was. I was just sheepish, awkward about putting myself out there, and coupled with my appearance, this tended to be quite the recipe for sheer frustration.

I had always been a beautiful girl. Starting college, I could have taken a man's breath away had I possessed the nerve to look him in the eyes long enough. I had sleek, blonde hair, a beautiful, angelic face, and a petite figure that was almost agonizing to behold, everything perfectly portioned, every nook and every crevice in precisely the right spot along my charming little anatomy. Had I been brave enough to actually make use of what I had and not hidden myself away all the time, I probably could have had just about any guy I set my heart on, and have made my way out of the infuriating hole of my shyness far sooner than I ended up doing.

But, the fact of the matter was, I just never quite seemed capable of breaking free of it, and I tended to just shy away any time any guy at all showed me any sort of affection whatsoever. Eventually, the guys around me stopped making any sort of advances. I guess because they mistook my shyness for being stuck up, and thought that I couldn't possibly want anything to do with them.

But this wasn't at all the case. As shy and unassuming as I might have seemed to those around me, I actually had a very passionate heart, and I craved love just as much as the next girl. And in fact, for the longest time, I'd pined for one very fine gentleman in particular, a classmate of mine from high school, Bobby Jones.

God, how I had my heart broken by that glorious creature, time and time again. Or, rather, how I broke my own heart in my inability to work up the nerve to talk to him, and how greatly I suffered watching him with all of the many girlfriends he had over the course of our high school years together. In hindsight, it would have been so easy, just to go up and talk to him, to let him know how I felt for him in exchange for finally feeling safe and secure in my own skin.

Some days I wondered about it, and I'd even confided this to my husband on occasion, even though I felt certain it was something that would make him uncomfortable. But it was hard as hell not to wonder, you know? How differently might my life have turned out had I just told Bobby how I felt about him, instead of keeping it all to myself for so long? Would I have broken free from my shyness that much earlier, and been able to make the most out of my youth like I'd always wished I had?

Who the hell knew?

The only thing I knew was that obsessing over it all was absolutely pointless on my part, and the fact of my repeatedly doing so was forever a manner of thorn in my paw. I mean, of course it's normal to consider the road not traveled in life, but eventually I just had to let it go, and accept that things had not turned out as I'd wanted to back then, and they never would. Maybe, if they had, I would have started enjoying my birthdays long before the present point in time, but whether or not that was the case, it didn't really matter anymore.

What did matter was the fact that, in spite of it all, despite my near certainty that I would never find the love of my life or be saved from my own unhappiness, things had somehow panned out in spite of all odds. And all, as I mentioned before, thanks to my amazing, loving husband.

It's almost a sort of miracle that the two of us had even ended up meeting, really. Sometimes, to this day, I simply can't believe how insanely I lucked out the way that I did, and I have to count my blessings repeatedly just to ensure that the beautiful life I live is, in fact, a reality.

It had happened one evening during my senior year of college, during the finals week of the first semester. That whole past year had been somewhat hellish for me, and I'd been struggling for some time to keep my grades up to where they needed to be in order to hold onto my scholarship. At the time, I'd been attempting to study for three different final exams at once, flipping from paper to paper and back again and easily confusing the contents of one subject for the other. Of no particular help in the matter of my keeping focused was the fact that everyone in my residence hall was making about the loudest racket you could imagine. Completely disregarding the fact that this was final's week, and that people who actually gave a damn about their education were trying to study.

What made it especially astounding, the happiest sort of coincidence, in fact, that I should meet Charles that night, was that the two of us first encountered one another at a bar. Under any normal circumstances I was not much of a drinker at all. For the longest time, because of my upbringing, I'd never even touched the stuff. But, given my present state of mind, and the pressure I was under, some alcohol in my system seemed like the precise sort of antidote I needed. And, not to mention, my residence hall was so rambunctious at that point that I almost imagined a bar to be a quieter place to get things done.

It was, to a minor degree at least, and with my headphones in and a dark corner booth secured, I at last managed to whittle my ways slowly through the volumes of coursework that still needed to be memorized before the week was up.

And that's when Charles had spotted me, seeing me clear from the bar, and, his words, becoming instantly enamored by the sheer beauty of that quite little girl in the corner. Not knowing my shy nature, he had approached me, and under any other circumstances, I might have had quite the disastrous nervous breakdown.

But, things as they were, alcohol in my system and my mind so strung out on my studies, when he said hello to me I somehow managed to look at him, without shying away, and to respond to him in a manner that was almost halfway normal. Admittedly, I could feel the skin of my cheeks flushing absolutely scarlet with embarrassment, and I could feel goosebumps and sweat mingling all down along the course of my neck and spine.

But somehow, God only knows how, I managed to end up having a complete, reasonably sensible conversation with the charming man, and the next thing I knew of it the two of us were planning a first date together. And the rest, after that, was just history...

I had been, admittedly, very nervous at first. Charles was a couple of years older than me, and I could tell that he was almost certainly more experienced than I was from a single glance. God, he was an attractive man. Broad shoulders and a thick chest, muscular features, and a gaze so deep and so penetrating that it almost made me melt inside.

I, meanwhile, was still a virgin, and had never even really had a boyfriend up to that point. I'd been on a few very uncomfortable dates, but they'd never really gone anywhere given my own uncertainty with myself, and I felt certain I would royally eff things up with this new, cute hottie as well.

And yet, somehow, that never occurred. Things never went south in the way I'd almost come to expect them to, and in fact, things seemed to go off entirely without a hitch. I think, God bless the cute bastard, that Charles seemed to intuit my almost inherent sense of anxiety, and he respectfully took things very, very slow with me on behalf of the fact.

And before I knew it, I was actually beginning to swoon for the man, to fall deeply in love in the manner I'd so long craved to have happen to me, and to have my problems suddenly shrink into the distance thanks to the force of the love he provided me.

It was several dates before the two of us had sex, him respecting my virginity as well as the other aspects of my shyness, until at last we decided that it was time to consummate the love that we'd been building up together for the past several weeks. He took things in the bedroom very gentle with me that first, splendid time, and as the affair progressed I realized that it was turning out far more pleasurable and agonizing than I would ever have imagined. I absolutely loved the union of our flesh, the combining of our bodies as he ravished me and put himself inside me, and after so very long of having been the shy little nobody all the time, I was at last allowing my true, inner vixen to come to light.

After that first time, sex became a regular part of our relationship, and almost all of the inhibitions that had held me down prior to that first lay came crashing down around me. As it turned out, I was an absolute animal in the sack once I pushed myself to get engaged, and the two of us engaged in any number of intense carnal acts together in the bedroom.

The two of us simply couldn't get enough of one another, and continually pushed our limits further and further with each roll in the hay, always trying new things, always looking to explore one another in some new way, and the results, almost invariably, splendid to say the least.

Suffice it to say, after so many months of the two of us absolutely hypnotized and consumed by one another's presence, the two of us ended up getting engaged, settling down together, and things from there on out seeming largely more hopeful than ever.

Of course, though, as I mentioned at the outset, it was hard not to occasionally find myself dwelling on the past, and on birthdays in particular it became a challenge not to remember all of the time I'd wasted prior to the two of us meeting. And of course, after so many years of me moping around in this way on my special day, it was only natural that Charles should catch onto it, and this year I could tell he was going that extra mile to ensure that things were a bit more enjoyable for me all throughout it.

It had all started that morning.

I'd been sleeping faintly, only halfway conscious and part of me still trapped in slumber. I was dreaming something, although I forgot shortly after waking what it was, but I feel like it had something to do with my discomfort regarding what day it was. It was a surprised to be suddenly stirred into alertness, blinking my eyes hard, and trying to gain my composure.