The Making of a Gigolo (11) - Renee Zimmerman
Chapters : 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10
Renee bent over and pulled down the covers, which she hadn't even gotten under, because it was warm in the room. It was still warm but, despite the boldness of her behavior, there was still a residual level of nervousness in her that demanded she do something routine and normal. Turning down the covers served that purpose.
"It really is a cute butt," said Bobby, from behind her.
She looked over her shoulder, to see him staring, where the shirt had ridden up to show her bare buttocks. Once again, she was without panties, in front of this disturbing man. Her decision to be bold, however, kept her from covering what he was looking at.
"Thank you," she said.
"No ... thank you," he replied, grinning.
She pushed at the nervousness, and crawled up on the bed, intentionally showing him more of her naked buttocks, but unaware that her pouting vulva were put on clear display. It made her feel incredibly naughty. It also made her breathing rate increase significantly, as though crawling onto the bed was a major physical exercise.
When she rolled onto her side, though, her hand went to re-arrange the shirt tails, to cover her front. Bobby just stood there.
"What are you looking at?" she asked, the nervousness back.
"I never thought I'd get to see you like this," he said softly. "You're so beautiful."
That brought heat to her face, because of the obvious sincerity in his voice.
"Thank you," she said again.
Her eyes went to his groin. The bulge looked a little bigger.
"Do you want me to leave these on?" he asked, his fingers tracing over the waistband of his briefs.
"I don't know," she sighed, at war with herself. Aldonza wanted them off ... wanted to see his manhood. The Lady Dulcinea was a bit shyer.
He left them on, and got onto the bed himself, lying right in front of her on his side ... so close ... but not yet touching her. He propped his head on one hand as she almost moved away from him, skittish at his nearness. He reached for one hand, and brought it to his lips.
"May I do this?" he asked, pressing his warm lips against the back of her hand.
"Yes," said Dulcinea.
"And this?" asked Don Quixote, kissing her fingertips.
"Yes," sighed Dulcinea.
"And this?" he whispered, leaning forward to kiss her lips lightly.
Quite suddenly, Aldonza was there, pressing her lips hungrily against those of her knight, and just as suddenly, his body was pressed against hers. She felt the multiple sensations of her breasts pressed to his chest, and the lump between his legs pressed into the open space between her thighs. His arms were around her and they rolled, until suddenly he was on top of her, pressing her into the bed, his lips mashing hers, and his tongue licking the inside of her mouth.
She was Renee again, and she was scared, pushing, until she realized they were still rolling, and she ended up on top of him, her lips sliding off of his. She lifted her head, and stared down through a tunnel of hair, at his face.
"I like kissing you," he said.
Aldonza was back in a flash, and pressed her lips against those of the man under her. She felt his hands on her bare butt, but then they slid up, under the shirt, to stroke her lower back.
What they were doing evolved into an almost wrestling match, with each of them rolling on top of the other for a few kisses, until the other wanted dominance again, and pushed. When he was on top, he often kissed more than just her lips, moving to nuzzle her neck, and the skin exposed on her upper chest, where the buttons of his shirt were undone. He hadn't shaved since that morning, but his roughness stimulated her skin. Eventually, when she was on top, she would present her neck to him, to be kissed, and press the open part of his shirt to his face.
Soon, he was nuzzling her breasts, through the cloth, moving them with his chin, or mouth or cheeks.
"You want this too, don't you?" he murmured, as he felt a stiff nipple under the cloth scrape over his cheek.
"You need a shave," she panted, not answering his question, but thrusting her breasts against his face.
She pushed, and straddled him, pressing her naked pussy against the lump in his shorts, which was now very firm. She lowered her neck to his lips.
"You're scratching me," she complained, holding her neck there so he could kiss it, and nibble her ear.
Then he was on top, sitting up. He let his fingers play over her cloth-covered breasts, stroking lightly.
"You're my Don Quixote," she whispered, as she watched his fingers bring her the delightful sensations.
"You're my lady Dulcinea," he said back.
"Lady Dulcinea wouldn't let you do that," she said.
He unbuttoned two more buttons, and was spreading the cloth apart, when she lifted her knees, making him fall forward, and rolled, to sit on top of him, like he had been sitting on top of her. Her hands went to his wrists, and held them to the bed, as her lips crushed his, and their tongues dueled.
He twisted his face aside, and went to her neck, while she arched it, letting him nuzzle her there. His lips went on down between her breasts. He could almost see a nipple inside the hanging shirt.
Her hands came up off the bed so easily that she knew she was helpless, as the muscles in his arms bunched and she was lifted as if she weighed nothing. Rather than letting him press her to the bed again, she tried to crawl away, as she was pushed off of him. She felt his hands on her hips, stopping her.
He held her there, on her hands and knees and she felt his scratchy chin on her tender butt cheek. Looking over her shoulder at him, shaking the hair out of her eyes, she saw him kissing her buttocks.
"What are you doing?!" she gasped.
"Kissing you," he said, between kisses that she felt both as warm lips, and scratchy stubble.
"My butt?" she moaned.
"Everywhere," he said, pushing the shirt up to expose her lower back, and drifting his lips across that. He kept pushing, until she felt cool air on her hanging breasts, as he kissed higher, along her backbone.
She felt his groin press against her butt, as he kissed higher, and his hands slid along her sides, moving to the front, to catch and weigh her breasts in his hands. She’d never been in this position with a man, and it was both strange and exciting, somehow, at the same time.
"Ohhhhh," she sighed.
She dropped her head, to look between her knees. White briefs, packed with something long and firm, pressed against her.
"Stop!" she barked.
He did, instantly, and that let her hold her position.
"I want your underwear off now," she said, her voice breathy.
His hands stroked her exposed buttocks.
"You play a dangerous game, Lady Dulcinea."
"Take them off," she said, her voice more firm.
He didn't question her, but as he pushed his briefs down, and off, sitting sideways, he also knew it wasn't time, yet, for him to use his lance. That she had stayed where she was, presenting herself to him, might have suggested to another man that she wanted to be mounted, like a mare, but Bobby knew, somehow, that wasn't what she wanted. Not yet.
So, once he was naked, he simply resumed what he had been doing, lying partially on her back, and running his hands all over her sides, and front. He didn't pay particular attention to her nipples, other than to slide his hands over them.
Again, Renee dropped her head, letting it touch the bed, as she looked between her legs.
There it was.
The thing she had worried so much about was pressed between her legs, hanging down slightly. It almost looked as if she had suddenly become male. Aldonza surged in her body, and she reached for it, to let her fingers explore, lightly, its feel ... its length. She had to stretch to get her fingers on the heavy sack behind it, which felt leathery and full. Aldonza wanted this thing.
She watched as he thrust it against her, and it slid along puffy pussy lips. Only one of these things had ever gone inside her, but it seemed like forever since that had happened. She was impatient, now, but helpless, with him controlling her ... on top of her ... holding her against him as his useless thrusts made her itching to feel filled.
Then his weight was gone, and the magnificent tool between her legs was gone too. She thought to flop onto her back, with her legs open in welcome. Aldonza was controlling her now, demanding sex, and pushing the Lady Dulcinea away with a snort of derision.
Then, before she could move, she felt his hands brush the front of her thighs, making them spread even more, and then his hands on her hips again, in a different position. She saw the top of his head appear between her knees, face up, and felt him take up his weight as he pulled himself up, moving his face beneath where his phallus had been hanging.
His face rose, and she felt his warm, wet tongue pushing her labia apart, seeking entrance.
Aldonza squealed inside her head, but it was the Lady Dulcinea who groaned, and let her weight down as he lovingly sucked at her sex. His nose moved back and forth, in perfect position to flick and push her clit.
"Ahhhhhhhh," she moaned, lifting her pussy slightly.
What nasty thing was Quixote doing to her now? How could this perversion feel so fantastically wonderful?
Aldonza laughed at the lady, and pushed her aside. She took over and ground her pussy against his face, feeling the prickle of his unshaven chin scrape the inside of her thighs.
An orgasm surprised her, and she went limp, except for her knees, which were locked into position as he slurped. She felt her pussy clench, and knew it was dripping onto his face. He slurped and sucked it all away.
The world tipped, and she fell, only to feel his hands on the inside of her knees, pushing her legs apart until her hips complained. His tongue was back, licking all over, even her thighs, where his whiskers had poked her. Her hands flailed as another orgasm rushed toward her and he started mauling her clit with his teeth, lips and tongue. She thought she'd faint if he kept on, and her hands went limply to his hair to push, ineffectually.
His face rubbed through her pubic hair and came to rain kisses on her abdomen, between that hair and her navel. His hands came to her breasts again, under the shirt, and his fingers found her nipples now ... squeezing ... almost, but not quite painfully.
Now she felt like Aldonza, when the muleteers were raping her ... helpless ... unable to fend them off ... ashamed that what they were doing to her excited her so much.
He lifted to his knees and one hand, while the other one went to the two remaining buttons that kept her breasts covered. She felt suddenly naked, the Lady again, shy about letting the knight see her charms revealed. Her hands went to flutter at his hands, not quite pushing them away, but trying to inhibit the success of his fingers.
"You want this," he said, his voice deep.
"I do?" she gasped.
"Yes," he said.
"Oh," she sighed, letting her hands fall away.
He finished unbuttoning the shirt, but only parted it a few inches, and then went back to all fours to lower his face and kiss the exposed skin.
"I love your taste," he said.
Her mind jarred, for a few seconds, trying to figure out if he meant her taste ... down there ... or where his tongue and lips were tasting now. Slowly, though, as his nose pushed the shirt farther and farther apart, and he began to lick and kiss the swells that were exposed, she decided it didn't matter, as long as he didn't stop what he was doing.
The Lady Dulcinea wanted this ... this gentle, romantic exploration of her body.
But Aldonza snarled, when all he did was lick the very edge of a still-covered areola, and sent her hand to pull at the cloth, exposing the stiff nipple. He swooped on that instantly, sucking hard, and she writhed at the sweet pain of his sucking lips.
He went on and on, and then moved to uncover the other one and suck lustily at that one too, like a starving baby, trying to get a flow of milk going.
He spent ten minutes, just on her nipples.
Then he went back to kissing her belly, and her hips, and the tops of her thighs, only occasionally swiping his tongue in the furrow of her sex, until Aldonza screamed at him to take her, like a man should take a woman.
Instead, he fell on her and rolled, to put her on top of him again.
She sat, hot-eyed, looking down at him, and felt his erection, pressed between her inflamed labia. It was simplicity itself to move her hips, dragging her wet sex along the thing she knew she could have now ... could let herself have ... had to have. Part of her mind exulted in the decision she had made. She had been right. He hadn't just taken her, like an animal, rutting and grunting and seeking his own pleasure.
She groaned as she tried to exert the same kind of discipline, rubbing her sex all over his prick, leaning forward to seek an orgasm ... just by rubbing ... delaying the supreme pleasure she knew she'd feel when he was finally inside her. She dangled her nipple in his face, letting the stiff nubbin scrape across his chin.
"More," she panted.
She rubbed, while he sucked, and the orgasm she sought came, slowly, like slow moving lava, engulfing her with its heat, consuming her.
In the midst of that, she could no longer wait, and reached to find his stalk, and guide it into her.
She wanted to tease herself even more, letting just a little in, and rubbing some more, taking him a millimeter at a time, but Aldonza had been put off as long as she could stand it, and her arms pushed hard as she impaled herself on him.
She was amazed, excited and dismayed, to feel the wet heat of his ejaculation, as soon as he was buried in her. His groans, in time with the pulsing of his penis, punctuated the spurts that soaked her. Her delight that he was this excited was tempered only by her fear that the thick thing, now filling her so beautifully, would shrink, and become useless to her.
It did not, though.
With a squeal of happiness, she realized it wasn't shrinking, and began a wild rotation, and almost spastic hip action that dragged his penis all along her famished channel. All her concentration went to her pussy, to feel that thing stroke her insides, and to grind her clit against the base, as yet another orgasm lifted its head and grinned at her.
"Ohhhh," she panted in disbelief, feeling it coming. "Ohhhh yessss!"
That one wasn't silky smooth, making her loins burn, like the last one. The knowledge that he had been so impassioned as to fill her instantly, combined with the feel of the product of that heavy, leathery sack she’d felt, exploded in her loins and she sobbed, with both relief and agony, as her whole lower body spasmed.
Unable to muster the strength to keep herself up, she flopped on top of him, and felt his whiskers dig into her upper chest. His arms went around her and his hands were like little feet, sliding all over her back in a whirling dance.
She forced strength into her neck, to move her head, and bring her lips to his. Her kiss was soft, and brief, as even that overtaxed her, and she wilted on top of him, like a wet rag.
Renee - she was Renee again - lay supine and helpless. She had no idea how long this had been going on, but, after a short respite, which she spent just trying to breathe, he had started all over again.
She had wanted just to lie there, exulting in the feel of being supremely satisfied, next to the man who had satisfied her, but she couldn't say no when his hands started to drift across her, and his lips began to explore her body again.
She closed her eyes, no longer thinking about the musical, but of the man who was with her. Bobby Dalton. It was Bobby who had done these things to her ... had loved her so masterfully. Daniel had never produced even half the passion she felt with this man. She was convinced beyond any doubt now that he was a gigolo - an accomplished gigolo - but she didn't care about that anymore. As his lips teased her nipples again, and his fingers traced along her soaked pussy lips, she understood, with crystal clarity, why those other women looked at him the way they did, and smiled at him the way they did ... and came back. As she let him roll her, to lie behind her, holding her and kissing the back of her neck, she knew she owed Felicity an apology ... that she could never again be jealous of her. She understood why Felicity wanted him. She wanted him too.
Her relaxed body jerked as he wormed his penis into her from behind. She hadn't expected him to be able to do this again so soon. Her knees came up, automatically, to give him room to get in deeper, and she arched her back, for the same reason. He continued kissing her back, and letting his hands slide all over her, as he thrust gently.
No orgasm threatened. This just felt marvelous.
Then he was manhandling her onto her hands and knees again, his hands on her hips. She didn't have the energy to hold her front half up, and lay her head on her arms, just waiting for whatever might come next. The feel of the blunt tip of his sexual spear spreading her labia came as only a tiny surprise, now, and did not have the feel of animalism to it.
She welcomed this, because he went deep into her, and it felt just as good as when they had been spooning. She felt his hand snake around her side, and his fingers searching for her clit.
"Nooooooo," she whined, not yet capable of feeling another orgasm. It was too much. She felt too good. It was too nice to just rest like this, and be made to feel so good by his internal, sexual massage.
She couldn't stop him, though, and his fingers fed her the energy she needed to face what she felt coming. She'd never had an orgasm curled up like this, unable to move because of the weight of his body freezing her into this bent-over position. Now she was the mare, unable to get away from the stallion that humped harder and harder into her hindquarters.
Then that guttural grunting sounded, and he spurted again.
It was that offering ... the feel of his sperm rushing into her that triggered her orgasm, rather than his fingers, though they helped.
They both fell sideways, spooning again, his prod still in her. She felt the grip of his arms around her relax, as his body sagged, and he finally ran out of energy.
Ten minutes later, they both slept.
Renee woke. She was instantly aware of where she was, and whose arms were still around her. She moved her arms and legs, almost tentatively, as if to feel for injury ... to see if they still worked. She could hear him breathing, and feel the warmth of that breath on the back of her neck.
She felt like she was a mess. The insides of her thighs were sticky. She'd never been made love to like that. Never. She couldn't imagine it ever happening again. Not like that. His passion had been almost overwhelming ... the kind of passion that could not possibly be the result of self satisfaction. Last night he had given himself to her as completely as a man could give himself. It was that that kept her there, in his arms, while her body yearned to feel hot water washing her clean of the sweat their lovemaking had generated.
She squeezed with her kegel muscles, expecting to feel tenderness, but there was nothing but the feeling of emptiness ... normalcy. She was mildly astonished that what had to have been literally hours of lovemaking had left her feeling normal. Only her level of relaxation and contentment were left, as signs that what had happened had been something very good.
She felt no guilt. She knew she'd have to confess, to the priest, and maybe then she'd feel guilty about the fornication she had indulged in. Her mind rebelled. That wasn't fornication. Nothing that sweet and tender and amazing could be simple fornication. She had been made love to last night. The room had been filled with love. She had been filled with love.
Her ears registered the change in his breathing that meant he was awake too, and her whole body shivered in one convulsive shudder as he licked the back of her neck.
"Morning." His voice was thick, like his mouth was dry.
Suddenly, she was almost overwhelmed by the surge of emotion in her. She couldn't look at him. No woman could look a man in the face after what he had done for her ... with her ... like that. She felt like she barely knew him ... and yet she knew him better than any other man she'd ever known.
"Shower!" she yipped. It was an excuse to leave him. To get control of herself. To let the warm water cleanse her of the nervousness ... the awkwardness ... of waking in his arms.
She didn't count on the excitement in her voice as she yipped that one word might be interpreted as an invitation for him to follow her into the shower, too.
"Bobby!" she objected, still not ready to face him.
"I thought you wanted this too," he said, from behind her, his hands smoothing over her shoulders.
Almost instantly she knew she did want this too. How could he know that?
She stood, docile, as his soapy hands roamed all over her. She felt uncomfortable, as his hand cleaned between her legs, and she went up on tiptoes, trying unsuccessfully to get away from that hand.
Within seconds, though, his soapy fingers had lit the fire in her loins again. The smoldering ashes of last night burst into flames, and she turned to kiss him.
He reached to turn off the water, still kissing her, and they kissed until their bodies no longer dripped on the tile floor of the shower. She let him dry her, still just standing, as he tended to her. She knew he was going to take her again, and did nothing to stop him.
When he pushed her toward the bathroom door, she walked quietly to the bed. They had torn it to pieces the night before, but she smoothed the sheet with her hands, and lay down, spreading her legs, as if what was to happen was inevitable.
He crawled between her legs immediately, and tested her with the tip of his stiff prick, held in his fist. She was slippery and wet.
Gone were the teasing kisses ... his tongue drifting across her body. His lips captured a nipple and he sucked as he slid into her. Finally, she could open her eyes. This was the Bobby she knew, and could look at. His blue eyes stared down into hers.
"I'm glad we got things straightened out," he said, thrusting and rotating his hips.
She moved his head to the other nipple, and thrust her hips up at him.
Renee felt the strength in his hips, as soon as she laid her hands on them. She felt his muscles bunch, as he began to thrust into her, driving deep, speeding up. Somehow, the base of his penis crushed her clit each time he went in, even though he was only in for a second. This felt different, as she lay on her back, wide open for him, her heels digging into the bed, to thrust against him.
This, she decided, was mating. For the first time there was the blinding revelation in her mind that what they were doing could create life! She'd been so overwhelmed by her emotions that she simply hadn't thought of that before now. In that instant, she didn't want him to make love to her. She wanted him to mate with her, to claim her, to extend his passion for her into something that would last forever.
Her orgasm was different this time too, coming in sharp, stabbing waves, as her pussy spasmed around the invader that was ravishing her. She felt the waves of pleasure whirl in her belly, only sharpening as he began to pant harder, and pound harder.
Her orgasm was fading when he pushed hard, and his face twisted into a grimace. Then his eyes snapped open and stared into hers, as his penis jumped inside her, and began to spurt.
"Ohhhh Renee," he sighed. "Thank you so much."
She lay there, accepting his seed, wanting his seed, loving the hot spurting feel of its delivery. This just felt right somehow, as if, for the first time in her life, she was really complete, as a woman. This was what she was made for ... what Nature intended to happen to a woman.
Thirty minutes later, Renee stood, fully dressed, holding Bobby's left hand, while his right tapped on the Chumley's door. Felicity opened it, and surveyed the couple in the hall.
Women can tell, somehow. It's not scientific, but they can tell. One woman recognizes another who has been well-fucked.
"I'm so glad you worked things out," she said, smiling.
The rest of the morning was almost anticlimactic in its normalcy.
They had breakfast in the hotel restaurant, while bellhops collected their bags and had them ready to put back in the car. The trip home was almost a carbon copy of the trip there, except that Renee felt only contentment as she sat holding Bobby's hand.
Felicity made no comments, either veiled or otherwise, but the looks the women traded communicated in that secret way women have of communicating without words. Felicity's look of "I'm so happy for you," was returned with Renee's look of "I'm so happy for me too."
"Do you want me to drop you off at home?" asked Felicity, as they neared Granger.
"My car is at your place," said Bobby. "I can take her home from there."
When they arrived, it was to find Rhonda, carefully looking after three children, all over three but under six, years of age. Rhonda took one look at Renee, and said things were under control, and to take her time unpacking. Bobby offered to carry her suitcase to her room for her.
Something fundamental had altered in Renee's makeup. Once they were in her bedroom, it only seemed natural for Bobby to hold her and kiss her. Where, before, she would have pushed him away, now she held him close. Where, before, she would have been horrified when he undressed her, with Rhonda out in the play room with the children, now she let him.
Naked, on her own bed, with Bobby thrusting deep in her, mating with her again, she even discovered a sense of humor in the joy she was experiencing.
"All this ... for just ten dollars?" she panted.
"I'll put the rest," he sighed, "on your tab."
Then he spurted in her again.
He left her lying naked, her legs limply spread, her pussy running over with thick, virile spunk.
He stopped on the way out to give Rhonda a deep kiss.
"She's taking a nap," he said, when he pulled away.
Rhonda, her knees slightly weak, said, "I have time." She winked at Bobby. "And I know how much I've needed a nap after being around you."
Renee wouldn't have been all that surprised, as the next weeks went by, to find that she was just like all the other women who had tasted Bobby's lovemaking. She never turned him down when he walked through her door, smiling. There were occasions, when she was working, that he stayed only long enough to see if there was anything she needed, in terms of his handyman skills. She found that if she said, "Not right now," he always returned ... later ... when she wasn't working.
She also found, to her delight, that he did make love to her again, as opposed to just mating with her. She admitted to herself that she loved both styles, but counted herself very lucky that, sometimes, he delayed his gratification until she was frantic to feel him spurting in her.
She barely noticed that every day visits became every other day visits, until he had weaned her onto three visits a week.
And it wasn't until late September, the twenty-second to be exact, when Bobby stopped in only long enough to tell her he couldn't stay, because his sister, Linda, was having a baby, that she realized she had missed a period.
Linda fell back onto the half-raised bed, limp, and exhausted. She was completely sure that, if her last push had failed ... if she hadn’t delivered her baby with that push, she would have been unable to push again. Paul had stayed with her throughout her labor, but had become dizzy when he saw the baby's head crown, as they moved her to the delivery room. Her mother had stepped in to coach her through the rest, and now stood, smiling, wiping her daughter's forehead with a cool, damp cloth.
There was a strangled cry from between her legs, where the intense pressure had suddenly vanished, along with the excruciating pain in her hips.
"Lie still, please," said the doctor, handing a wrinkled almost blue looking thing to a nurse, who received it with an open blanket over her hands. She wrapped it up and whisked it to a table nearby to do the things that medical people do with newly delivered babies.
The doctor smiled. "Boy," he said. "Good looking tyke, if I do say so myself." He smiled a patently false smile. "Now, I need you to push one more time, to deliver the afterbirth."
"Ohhhhh," moaned Linda helplessly.
"You can do it," said Mirriam. "Almost done now."
"You did this eight times?" whined her daughter.
"Nine," said Mirriam, still smiling.
"Push now," said the doctor, as her belly rippled again. "You can hold your son as soon as this is done."
That gave her the strength, and she pushed, feeling like there was nothing to push against. The doctor made happy sounds, though, so she kept at it, until he said: "Done. Good job, Linda."
The nurse approached with the blanket-wrapped bundle, and Linda's arms came up. Someone raised the bed even higher, so she was almost sitting, and the impossibly small, impossibly light bundle was put into her arms. Mirriam's hand reached to the blanket and pulled the folds away from a tiny face, pink now, that had eyes tightly closed, beneath a head of coal black, thick hair.
"Hi Randall," said Linda. "I'm your mommy."
Late in September, Bobby took Constance to the fair. She mingled with the crowds without any problem, and they rode some rides together. The only sign that she was still vulnerable was that she held his hand almost constantly, and needed several long hugs.
In October, as Renee coped with the notion that she was going to have a baby, Felicity Chumley strained up against Bobby, as he thrust into her and delivered yet another dose of baby makers.
"I'm pregnant," she panted, feeling his jumping penis give her what she wanted.
"Why are we doing this then?" he gasped, as his penis jumped three more times.
"Because I love it," sighed Felicity.
Each time Bobby visited the childcare center, in his role as the official handyman of the place, Rhonda saw him. They usually chatted, and, more often than not, Rhonda got a kiss or two. She also saw him when he came to spend time with Elizabeth, who was now almost two years old. Her relationship with Herb hadn't changed really. Herb wanted little to do with Elizabeth, though he seemed to be getting a little more interested in her as her personality developed. He still had his boyfriends. In good weather, he usually met them at the houseboat. For Rhonda, it was more like having a roommate to share expenses with, than a husband, but she didn't mind. Elizabeth had given her a mission in life.
While Rhonda felt completely comfortable about hugging Bobby, and kissing him like a real husband, she had shied away from going farther with him, since Elizabeth had been born. She couldn't put her finger on it, really, except that just having him spend time with her seemed to be enough. He wasn't like a real husband either, though she thought of him that way more than she did Herb, now.
It was on a night in November, when the weather had become cold enough that Bobby had had to start the furnace for her, that she felt that peculiar tug again.
Bobby was reading Elizabeth a story, one of the innumerable Berenstain Bears books that had somehow piled up in the house. They were Elizabeth's favorites, particularly when Bobby read them, because he could use different voices for the different characters, and sound like a real bear.
Rhonda had been working on decorations for the holiday season, unpacking a box from the storage room, when Bobby stood up.
"She's asleep," he said softly.
Rhonda followed him to Elizabeth's room, which she and Bobby had decorated while she was pregnant, and watched as he lay his daughter down. She felt the tug again.
He turned, and she went into his arms.
"I think I need to hire you again," she said into his chest.
"You don't have to hire me," he said, squeezing her. "You have special privileges, whenever you want them."
"I want them now," she said.
It was almost like reliving a wonderful dream from the past. She hadn't forgotten the feel of his hands and lips, but those memories had faded a bit. He made them fresh again, as she lay under him, loving being loved again.
"Did you plan this?" he asked, thrusting harder.
"No," she gasped. "It just came over me."
"You know what happened last time we did this," he warned.
Electricity shot through her nerve endings. She hadn't thought of that at all! Now, she couldn't, because he was about to make her cum.
"Don't stop," she panted. "Please don't stop."
He didn't, until she squealed under him, and her body told him that she was there. Then he let himself go, and flushed her full of sperm.
Later, as they lay there cuddling, she had time to think. This wasn't the best time in the world to have done this. She wondered, briefly, if her body had demanded it, because she was ripe, and it wanted to be filled with life again.
"Tomorrow's my birthday," she whispered.
"I'll have to get you a birthday present," he said softly.
"You just gave me my birthday present," she said. "Part of it."
"There's more?" he asked.
"My birthday isn't until tomorrow," she said. "You have to do this then too."
"Oh," he said, smiling. "I see."
"And the next day," she added.
"How about again right now?" he asked.
Twenty minutes later, Bobby grunted, and froze again.
"Happy birthday!" he gasped, as he gave her her present.
It wasn't until the first week in December that Rhonda knew Bobby hadn't given her another baby for her birthday. She was a little ambivalent about that, actually. Had she missed her period, it would have been stressful but, at the same time, the fact that her only lover, to her mind, hadn't gotten her pregnant again, caused a little melancholy too.
It was as she looked at the calendar to mark her period down, that she saw, later in the month, Janet's name printed neatly in a square, with the notation "B-day" under it. She had never thanked Janet ... not officially ... for forcing Bobby on her.
She determined to rectify that this year.
"I need to hire you," said the voice in the phone, when Bobby picked it up.
He laughed, when he recognized Rhonda's voice. "You're having another birthday already? My goodness, how time flies."
"It's not my birthday, silly," she said.
"I told you, you don't have to hire me," he said.
"I do for this. It's for somebody else."
"Really!" said Bobby. "I'm amazed."
"I know, it's not like me, but this is special," she said.
"Who?" he asked.
"Janet," came the one word answer.
There was silence on the line for a few seconds. Then: "Does she know about this?"
"No," said Rhonda. "It's a birthday surprise for her."
"I'm not so sure that's a good idea, Rhonda," said Bobby.
"Of course it is," said Rhonda. "She gave you to me. I should return the favor."
"She's never shown any ... interest," said Bobby.
"Not to you," said Rhonda, "but I know her. She's horny all the time. She's just too stubborn to do anything about it. Besides, I've seen the way she looks at you."
"I still don't know," said Bobby.
"I'll make it worth your while," said Rhonda.
He laughed again. "Really?"
"She paid you ten for me, right?"
"Yes," said Bobby.
"I'll give you fifteen."
"For Janet, I should charge you twenty," he joked.
"Twenty it is!" she said. "Thank you. Don't tell her. I want it to be a surprise."
Bobby was going to object again, but the line went dead.
Once again, we have come to a point in the process where we need to separate things a bit, and end, at least temporarily, the telling of Bobby's tale.
There is more to tell, though, so the tale will go on in story number twelve of this series. I hope to see you there.
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