Randy Randy Ch 02

"What the FUCK!" I yelled as water dribbled onto my face.

Rita was giggling like a damn schoolgirl.

"I shagged Donna's ass over to the bar to handle deliveries, got all kids off to school or other pursuits, and I have three wonderful hours available," she said, doing the two-hands-crossed-in-front thing to peel off the T-shirt she wore, the one that had

Happy Tavern - If you're not happy when you come in you will be by closing time

across the front over a sketch drawing of an obviously nude woman. She looked kind of familiar actually and I wondered if Rita had posed for the drawing.

She had on the bra I liked so much, flesh-colored lace so soft she still sagged even with the bra on. She left it on as she skinned out of her tight jeans showing the matching panties.

"Tell me I'm a hot redhead," she said, striking a pose with her back arched and her fingers laced behind her head.

"You are one HOT redhead," I said, grinning, deliberately looking at the bright orange tufts of hair peeking out from her armpits.

"And you are my favorite sedative," she said, holding that pose and moving her hips almost imperceptibly (yep, another Word of the Day).

"Is that what you need?" I asked, rolling off the bed and moving quickly to get behind her, laying my hands on her hips where they flared so nicely, "To be calmed down?"

I pressed old Wilbur against her ass, letting her feel my interest, pressing my palms flat on her belly to hold her to me. I squeezed the soft little pouch low on her belly where the skin had long since given up trying to return to her pre-pregnancy shape.

She arched her back, leaning into me, and let out a soft humming moan.

"Bathe me like a cat," she said in a soft, breathy voice, "Help me relax."

I said, softly, "Meow" and began licking the back of her neck.

She shivered and made that soft humming sound again as she arched her back, stretching luxuriously, her arms over her head, her lifting herself on tiptoes.

She shivered a little as I found the hooks of her bra and then worked it down her arms.

"Oh, God, Randy, that feels so good," she whispered.

I pushed her forward so she sort of fell across the bed, her breasts on the mattress but her hips at the edge. I pulled her panties off and then guided her up onto the bed all the way. When she started to roll over I stopped her.

I straddled her hips, my balls laying on the crease of her slightly oversize ass, and began giving her that cat bath she asked for.

Rita is one of those women who never quite lost the baby weight or the spread hips from pregnancy. Hell, she was always pregnant so that shouldn't be any surprise. Her back, where I was licking and kissing, was slender. A distance runner's back with very distinct shoulder blades, the bumps of her spine showing clearly. She wasn't skinny, but from the waist up she was, well, "lean" is a good word.

Her hips had spread dramatically the first time she got pregnant and the next seven left them big. I measured her once, well, I measured a bunch of women that night, it was some sort of Lady's Night Truth or Dare party at the

Happy Tavern

and I was a designated judge. Rita came in at 34C-26-48. Her hips showed soft saddle bags, her thighs retained baby weight and softness, and she had that soft, deeply stretchmarked pouch at her belly from the way she had been stretched so many times. I love her body and love playing with it. Hell, almost as much as she does I think.

So I gave her that cat bath she wanted. My tongue was dry, if not scratchy like a cat's, and I licked my way down slowly. I did her shoulders and arms and then scooted down to sit on the backs of her knees when I got to her ass.

From the waist up she was lean, from the waist down she was soft and dimply. She didn't like her body so she was so pale she looked albino from her beltline down. She never showed it outside and that skin never saw the sun. Her ass was big and round and white and deeply dimpled. You've heard the phrase "cottage cheese skin?" Well, she had that, and I liked it.

She had showered and when I spread her cheeks she was nice and clean as I continued the cat bath down the cheek of her ass and then carefully cleaned the rim of her asshole. She squirmed a little when I did that, and I could hear her fingernails scrabbling against the material of the sheet.

She giggled when I tongue-cleaned her

gluteal sulcus

, that line where ass meets upper thigh, and squirmed as I started down her thighs. She's one of those chicks who really pack on the weight in her thighs, The skin, and the fat under it, moved visibly as my tongue licked, very dry now. I knew her spots and when I licked behind her knee I felt her shudder.

At her feet, I licked and sucked each toe before I rolled her over.

One of the first things I do with any new chick is throw away their razors. It's not so much that I like body hair, you see, but I understand it's a control thing. I like to get it straight, right from the get-go, you know, who's in charge of this relationship. Like many redheads, the light hair on her calves and shins was pale and soft, and, really, I doubt anyone noticed that she wasn't shaving anymore. But I did like the feel of it when I licked her.

But about two inches down her inner thighs that bright orange muff started and that was very thick and very curly and very coarse.

And talk about a gaper. After eight deliveries her labia just sort of hung there, an orange hair-covered bag of skin, with pink inner lips dangling. And I licked her carefully, the coarse hair felt good on my tongue, and it held her womanscent with the faintest hint of urine that I liked. I licked dangling lips, pink and shiny and hairless, and then fat outer lips, covered in that coarse hair. I could see the first hint of her full arousal as her love honey, thick and very white pooled and dripped.

That hair ran up to her belly button, making a bright furry orange delta, that's a triangle, between the points of her hips and her navel, and I licked it thoroughly.

Her breasts, fallen dramatically after 25 years of lactation and nursing, hung off to the sides, those big dark nipples already hard from what I was doing. I licked her tits and sucked her nipples, enjoying her milk, thick and warm and sweet.

I slipped inside of her easily as I licked under her chin and then did her ears.

Rita is one of those women who need makeup. Oh, she's not homely or anything, but she's, well, plain. Her eyes are small and close-set, her nose is a bit oversized, and her mouth is wide and thin-lipped. The total package is, you know, okay, but not particularly pretty. She's more cute at the best of times, but without makeup, well, "plain" is the word.

I licked that thick hair of her armpits as I started a slow rhythm, one I knew would bring her along. But she wanted "a sedative" this morning, and I do like giving a chick what she wants.

When her armpits were done, the hair smooth from my tongue, I started on her face.

The only sign that I was getting to her at all was a slightly runny nose, and I licked that too. That made her scrunch up her face and go "ewwww" softly, but she was smiling.

I could feel her, warm and wet, squeezing on Wilbur, but that was still the only thing moving on her.

"How is it," I asked, "that I haven't knocked you up yet?"

She giggled and said, "It's not for lack of trying and I've never tried any birth control. But keep trying honey."

And still, she didn't move.

I pulled out quickly and sat back on my heels. Those eight vaginal births showed in the way she gaped open, her pink inner lips hanging free, touching the crack of her ass.

"Push, baby," I said, "let me get it ready. Maybe that will help give you that baby."

She smiled and said, "You like to see it, don't you."

"Hell, I LOVE to see it, to hold it, to play with it," I said, enjoying her smile as I told her that.

Prolapse is an ugly word for a beautiful thing.

She giggled and said, "Ready to catch?"

I cupped my hands, my forefingers lightly brushing where her lips hung free.

"Push," I said,

She held my eyes then, the only sign she was doing anything was a slight reddening of her face as she bore down.

And prolapsed.

Her uterus, her womb, the core of her womanness, peeked out at first, her cervix a tiny mouth begging to be kissed, or maybe fucked. It was pink and shiny with her nectar and, I thought anyway, beautiful.

I kissed it.

I held it, marveling at how pink it was, a slightly oversized pear in my hand, very firm with the strong muscles that would push the baby out when it was time. When I bent to kiss and lick it, the taste was different. There wasn't the salty clear mucus of her vaginal lining. This was the product of her Bartholin's Glands, thick and white and sweet on my tongue. I opened my mouth wide and covered her cervix, my tongue caressing and tasting the opening that would let my sperm find her egg and give her what she needed.

I supported her with my left hand while my right gently caressed and my lips nursed like a hungry baby or, I suppose, given where my face was, like a whore sucking a cock. Either way, her moans told me I was getting to her in that way EVERY man wants to get to a woman.

I'm a man who enjoys women, I hope I've made that clear by now. When I'm doing something like this, well, I don't think about time. I don't know how long I was down there, holding her uterus and, well, "preparing" is I guess a good word. I know it was more than seconds and less than hours but beyond that, well, I'd just be guessing.

When she came it was sudden and powerful. I felt the sudden tension and squeezed, trying to hold her outside of her body. But there are a lot of muscles involved in a woman's orgasm, especially those I give her, and I didn't want to hurt her, so when I felt her body tense and she did a sort of half sit-up I released her although I did chase with my mouth and caught the gush of ecstasy as those other glands, the Skene's glands at the top of her pussy and, of course, the mucus membranes than lined her, joined the rest of her body in pleasure.

Rita isn't exactly a squirter like a few women I've been with, but her sudden release left her with thick white love nectar running down those dangling inner lips and making a puddle at the bottom of the crack of her ass.

She was SO stretched and loose that there was almost no sensation as I entered her again.

"Do you want another baby?" I asked.

"Yess," she hissed.

"Squeeze," I said and suddenly she wasn't loose anymore. She was as tight as she probably had been on the night she surrendered her virginity.

"Push a little," I said and I felt hard resistance as she pushed and her cervix met the head of my cock.

"That's right," I breathed, getting a little winded myself, "just like that."

And then she matched my rhythm. As I would pull out I would feel her cervix follow me, maintaining our contact. When I pushed in she relaxed, but kept the contact.

And she started talking then, almost chanting.

"That's right, Baby," she would say, "Just like that. Knock me up. Help me be a woman. That's right, Baby."

Right then she was pretty. Her face was flushed, she had a bit of a sheen of sweat, but mostly it was the pure happiness she exuded as she encouraged me. I felt her cum again, but she kept matching my rhythm, her orgasm signified by a sudden gush of wetness on my balls.

When I came, and, again, it was one of those timeless interludes that could have been seconds or minutes, not hours, I don't have THAT kind of stamina, her body tensed and she pressed hard against me, her cervix pushing, as I came, my body meeting nature's demand to send my DNA deep into her.

She flopped back onto the mattress, gasping, and giggling, and I settled onto her, breathing hard to catch my breath, to pay off my oxygen debt.

"Fold up a pillow, Baby," she said, "and put it under my ass." She giggled and said, "If that didn't do it I think I'd better give up."

I slipped out of her, not quite soft but no longer hard, grabbed one of her pillows, folded it in half, and said, "Butt up."

She pulled her legs up, grabbed her knees, and arched her back while I slipped the doubled-up pillow under her ass.

She looked a strange combination of sexy and awkward as she lay like that, her ass supported on the doubled-up pillow, legs kind of hanging, tits hanging on the sides, dripping a little, and smiling like the Cheshire cat.

"Will you still love me when my belly's out to here?" she asked, breathless and holding her hands together about two feet above her belly button.

"You know I will," I said, as if I would even be in the same state in nine months.

And then, what she said actually sunk in.

"You seem pretty confident," I said, "Are you, what do you call it, omalating?"

She giggled.

"Yes, Randy, I'm ovulating," but she stretched the word out, making each syllable a separate thing - au view late ing.

Old Wilbur jumped back up.

"You really want me to knock you up?" I asked.

"Yes," she said, looking at me with big eyes, "Did you think I was joking?"

It got to me. Oh, don't get me wrong. I'm pretty sure I've got kids around but this was the first time a woman had ever said anything like this, and it got to me.

I climbed back on, on my knees to line up with her uptilted pussy, and fucked her again. This wasn't making love. Shit, it was more like a dog running across a bitch in heat. For the first time in my life, I was trying to knock a broad up.

I came, flopped beside her, suckled on that tit, drinking sweet warm milk, and then fucked her again. I wasn't interested in her pleasure. I didn't try to give her an orgasm. I just wanted to plant my seed in her.

After that, three times in an hour, I was pretty spent so I was laying there, my face nestled in her armpit that hair tickling my nose, relaxing.

"Would you like to know my fantasy?" she asked.

"You know I would," I said, my fingertips laying with her nipples.

"Home birth," she said.

I chuckled. "That's hardly a fantasy," I said.

Her eyes were serious as she met mine.

"Home birth," she said, "with you standing by me, naked, your friend Wilbur at attention. Giving that final push and as the midwife cuts the cord having you back inside of me, even before I pushed out the afterbirth."

Well, okay, maybe I WILL be around for another nine months if I can ever get this cow knocked up.