The Surrogate

After two weeks, her body was back to normal. Well, as normal as a woman's body can be after delivering seven healthy babies. She was shedding the baby fat and the stretch marks weren't quite as livid. Her boobs were bigger, her milk had fully come in. They looked like cantaloupes now, captured in skin-colored bags, with oversized, very dark nipples almost constantly dripping. She was truly Earth Mother prepared to feed the world.

Between her legs, she was even more perfectly the image of a fertility goddess.

Her outer lips, the thick, meaty

labia major

was still heavy, leaving the portal to her sex obvious when she stood. Her pubic mound was big and round, almost as if half of a softball had been inserted under the skin. Her

labia majora

formed a long cleft, and it was clear why one of the cruder names given to a woman's genitalia by junior high school boys was a "clam."

But more than anything else, more than the saggy leaking breasts, more than the incipient belly apron with its tracery of stretch marks, more than the baby fat she still carried, it was those inner lips, the delicate pink

labia minora

that held my attention. She didn't just dangle. She hung. Those inner lips hung free, wrinkled and pink and beautiful, looking so much like lips that I kissed them a lot.

Like now.

I was out of school for the year. I wouldn't be back in class until August and was working part-time in a small engine shop, fixing lawnmowers and chainsaws.

I liked coming home and finding her naked. Her house, well, our house now, had a swimming pool, her surrogate gig really did pay well, and she was pretty casual about clothes.

When I got home, I found her busy in the kitchen, naked.

When I moved toward her she yelled, "OH NO! You get your ass in the shower before you touch this," and she made that motion, both hands starting at her chin and sweeping down, that women seem to master with their first pair of real panties.

I laughed and said, "Yas'm," and headed for the shower.

My hands were dirty, it's a dirty job as Mike Rowe might say, so I started with the

GoJo

with pumice.

Hands clean, I stepped into the shower. I wasn't surprised when I felt her hand cover mine, grab the soap, and start on my back.

The shower was sensual and fun. She washed my back and then I did hers. We soaped and giggled and spit water on each other with abandon.

After the shower, we dried each other and then she said, "If you don't take me to bed right now I think I might explode."

"No, Br'er Fox, not the briar patch," I said, and led her into the bedroom.

She laid back, relaxed, her legs parted slightly, and said in her thick bedroom voice, "Make me cum until I beg you to stop, Baby."

I wasn't about to start hurrying things at this point.

I laid beside her, snuggled into the crook of her arm, and found her nipple. As I was getting ready to latch on and drink my fill, giving me the pleasure of nursing and her the pleasure of feeding me from her body, I let my hand run down her belly, giving that soft belly apron a squeeze before I filled my hand with her inner lips, hanging free from her body now.

"Push," I said and latched on.

As her milk started flowing I felt her belly muscles tense and then her firm core was in my hand.

I gently massaged her uterus then, as I nursed.

I was struck, as I was every time we did this, by the perfect intimacy of what we were doing.

When we were both satisfied with our, well, unique foreplay, I patted what I held gently and watched it retreat into her body. And that left those beautiful

labia minora

, those delicate pink inner lips so stretched out from her profession, hanging loosely.

I lifted and kissed them, my tongue tasting that delicate salty taste that was always there at the true portal to her sex. And she responded, her breath catching, powerful muscles deep in her belly twitching. I sucked, slowly drawing those nether lips into my mouth, tasting as her love honey, her natural lubricant, changed. The slightly salty taste of her at rest became hot and thick and oily and I sucked gently, encouraging her.

I used my hands on that soft round flap of her belly, gently lifting and playing with it, my fingers digging in gently in that way I knew she liked.

Sex between us was no longer a hurried thing, that frantic, almost desperate need for release, evolution's demands all that mattered.

We were past that and enjoyed the foreplay almost as much as the climax. Honestly, I'm pretty sure we both enjoyed the foreplay more than the climax. I know I did.

So I sucked gently, feeling those special lips swelling in my mouth, feeling them getting fuller, harder. When she started to flow, I drank her, greedily, loving her taste and the oily feel of her in my mouth.

I didn't finish her. When I started feeling the little quivers of her impending orgasm I pulled away, sat back on my heels, and just looked.

She was Gaia. She was the Venus of Willendorf come to life, her sex hanging loose almost touching the sheet where those beautiful pink lips drooped, pendulous in her arousal and from what I was doing. Her readiness showed in the thick white nectar that was forming a little puddle where she flowed so freely.

I reached down and cupped her sex in my hand, warm and slick with her body's preparation to be impregnated again.

"Push," I said, recognizing my own excitement in the thickness of my voice.

Her body was such a perfect baby-producing creature that it required only a bit of effort and I held her uterus, the very core of her womanness, supported in my hands.

She was pushing 40 pretty hard (I had finally thrown away my fake ID when I hit the Big Two-One a couple of months before) and had delivered seven children vaginally. But what I held was timeless. It was pink and firm, slick with her natural lubricant. As I caressed it with my right hand, supporting it with my left, it pulsated slightly. Her cervix, that doorway to where she incubated her babies flexed slightly with each tiny movement. It looked like a tiny mouth so I kissed it, drawing a shudder.

I suppose what I was doing was making love to her core as I began kissing and licking, loving the feel and taste of her even as I missed the scent and taste of that postpartum honey.

But what I was really doing was worshipping at the center of a Goddess come to Earth.

"Hold that thought," I said, gently laying her uterus to nestle in those thick labia and then rolling out of bed.

"Pervert," she said, but with a giggle.

She knew what was coming and she welcomed it as much as I enjoyed doing it.

I got the little black plastic box out of the drawer where we kept it, and laid it on the bed beside her.

"And here I thought I had experienced pretty much everything," she said, smiling, watching as I hooked the squeeze bulb air pump to the pink tube and then as I got the little pink blob situated on the probe. There was no need for the little tube of lubricant that came with it when was already wet and slick.

I chuckled at that and said, "LIttle pinch," and gently pushed the

faux

baby into her uterus.

As I started pumping she stretched, her back arching, and looking like a cat in her satisfaction.

I pumped some more, watching, fascinated, as she started to swell.

"Let me pull it in," she said, her eyes meeting mind, "and then pump it with water. God, I miss the feel and the weight."

"Your wish," I said, smiling at her, "Is my command."

I worked the little valve to allow the "baby" to deflate and then watched as her core retracted slowly, stretching her just a bit as it slipped back inside.

"Hold that thought," I said and headed into the kitchen.

In the kitchen, I looked around for an appropriate vessel. I wanted to be able to pump her up enough to show and didn't want to have to make a dozen trips.

And there it was. I took the pitcher she used to make iced tea, rinsed it, sprayed it with the bleach-based cleaner, rinsed it again, and then filled it about half full with warm water. That gave me a couple of quarts to work with and I figured I could always make another trip.

When I walked back into the bedroom I stopped and just looked.

There was my Fertility Goddess, ready to receive a man's seed and bring forth new life. She was laying back, reclining really, against a couple of pillows. Her legs were parted in invitation, not spread wantonly but simply offering herself. And the little tube I would use to fill her baby was lost in the way the folds of her inner lips hung, full and soft, almost touching the sheet below her they were so loose.

I stared.

She giggled and said, "How did I get so lucky?"

"Wrong question," I said, not moving, just looking, taking her in.

"Oh?" she asked, stretching in that way only a woman can ever pull off, working her muscles while looking like a combination of whore, loving wife, and mother to be, "And what is the right question?"

"The proper question is, 'How did

he

get so lucky,'" I said, smiling, and meaning it.

"Mmmmmmmmmmmmm," she hummed, smiling, "Now come on, lucky boy, knock me up and then fuck me until I can't breathe."

I laughed, went to the bed, sat the pitcher on the nightstand, and pulled the syringe out of the case.

"How about," I said, making a production of dipping the syringe into the pitcher and drawing the plunger out, filling it, and then turning it up, flicking it with my fingertip, and pressing the plunger enough that all air was expelled, "I knock you up," I fished the end of the pink tube out from here it was hidden among the folds of her lips and twisted the little bayonet connection to lock it before pressing the plunger home, enjoying the little catch in her breathing, "and then make tender love to you until neither of us can breathe."

Her breathing was normal, well, after that little catch it was normal, and her head was back now, her eyes open, looking straight up.

She breathed, "How did I get so lucky?"

I turned the valve to prevent the little tube from leaking, laid the syringe on the table, and crawled up so I could see her face.

"By being you," I said, my fingertips lightly brushing her face, "by being the perfect woman," I brushed a few stray hairs away from her forehead, "by being so utterly sexy I couldn't resist you."

She giggled.

"By being huge?" she asked.

I ran my hand down the softness of her belly, playing with that circle where the skin had been stretched so badly that it was nothing but a mass of wrinkles.

"Yes," I said, "by being hugely perfectly feminine."

"Oh, God," she giggled, "pervert. Now KNOCK ME UP!"

I scooted back, filled the syringe, and put another 100 ccs of water into the baby, a little under a half cup, adding about four ounces.

I did that eight times, stopping to kiss her and tell her she was beautiful after each push of the plunger. By then the baby was about two pounds.

"Easy, Honey," she said, "give me a minute to stretch."

I chuckled and said, "Hold that thought," again as I headed for the kitchen to refill the pitcher.

When I came back she hadn't moved, but her hands were busy, very lightly caressing that round place on her belly where the skin is so soft. I thought I might see the first hint of a bit of a baby bump. I put the pitcher on the little table and then crawled up onto the bed, sitting back on my feet as I bent to kiss where she was caressing. Under the softness of that well-stretched skin, I thought I could feel the first hint of firm roundness.

I watched, fascinated, as she kept caressing while I added another pound to the baby. With that, I paused and followed her hands as they lightly stroked her belly and yes, I could definitely feel the firmness there.

So far I had been pretty, well, calm about the whole thing. I was approaching it as a way to give her what she wanted. But when I could feel that hardness my own desire took over. I could tell how this was getting to me by the way my hands trembled a little as I filled the syringe and pumped her up, over and over.

"Easy, easy," she sighed. I realized I had the pitcher almost empty. "Give me a few minutes, Baby," she said, "You're moving pretty fast."

"Oh, shit," I said, moving so I was on my knees beside her, my hand light on her cheek, my eyes holding hers, "Am I hurting you?"

She giggled softly and reached up to lay her hand on my cheek, mirroring what I was doing.

"I did

not

say that," she said, "just give me a few minutes."

So I snuggled against her, took her nipple in my mouth, and as I began nursing I rubbed her belly very gently.

She sighed and hummed contentedly.

Presently, she sighed and said, "More."

The morning went like that. I would add a pound or so the the baby that was stretching her, taking her to her natural state, and then let her rest while I nursed, first on one breast and then the other.

I went to the kitchen three times to replenish my water supply.

When she was the size she had been when I took her to the delivery room I lay beside, her, rubbing the hard roundness of her belly, the skin stretched taut now, the stretch marks a beautiful relief map that I could feel with my fingertips, her milk flowing, becoming my breakfast.

"More," she said so softly she was almost inaudible.

"Honey, are you sure?" I asked.

She giggled and said, "I never had twins."

I laughed, said, "Pervert," and got busy with the syringe again.

I added another three pounds, bringing her baby to 13 pounds by my rough calculations, before she said, "Oh, my, yes, Honey, that's enough."

And it was. Jesus, the skin of her belly was

so

taut that her stretch marks couldn't be felt.

She giggled and offered her hand.

"Help me up, Baby," she said, "this kid is kicking me in the bladder and I absolutely

have

to pee."

I laughed and offered my hand.

Christ, she was even more awkward than she had been when she was ready to deliver. I held her hand while she caught her balance and then watched as she walked to the bathroom in that leaning-back posture of a woman at term.

While she took care of that business I took the pitcher back to the kitchen, packed the syringe into the black plastic case, and put it all away.

By the time she came back into the bedroom, I was lying in bed, striking what I hoped was a fetching pose.

She stopped in the doorway and just looked.

"How did I get so lucky?" she asked for the third time.

I laughed and said, "I told you, I'm the lucky one here. Now come to bed."

She was laughing as she crawled, ponderous in her size, onto the bed and then straddled me.

The weight and feel of the hardness of her belly against me almost gave me a premature ejaculation.

"So tell me, Husband," she asked, sitting back on my thighs and smiling down at me, "what is it you like about me? My big leaky titties? This huge belly? My big hips or fat ass? What?"

"Truth?" I asked.

"No," she said, giggling, "lie to me."

"It's your beautiful eyes," I said.

"So, you

do

lie to me," she said, still giggling.

"No," I said, "I mean that. You have amazing eyes."

"You know what I mean," she said, doing one of those amazing stretches, her hugely swollen belly only adding to the effect.

"Welllllllllll," I said, trailing my fingertips down the roundness of her belly, finding the thatch of her pubic hair and then where her inner lips hung free, "I am

very

partial to the way your good parts kind of hang loose."

"Oh, God," she said, giggling and blushing.

"And, again, I'm serious. I LOVE the way your Fertility Goddess' body is so beautifully stretched, making it easy for you to bring more life into the world," I said, bending to kiss the parts I was talking about.

"I may be all stretched out," she said, patting my head, "but it still ain't easy."

"I know," I said, "and I can't wait to see you do it again."

"Pervert," she said again, but she was smiling.

And there was her scent and her taste again, those pheromones doing evolution's work.

I rolled up then, and took her in the missionary position, slipping inside of her, and reveling in the feeling of her belly against mine, forcing me to adopt a strange posture.

"Yes," I said, reaching down and gently pulling those heavy lips we had been discussing, "just like this."

She giggled and said, "I can't wait for my next contract but for now, this will do."

We made love like that, slowly and gently. It was awkward to kiss her, but I kissed her dozens of times. It was as awkward to cover her face with soft kisses, but I covered her face with soft kisses.

Her body responded as it always did, and soon I felt that wonderful sensation, her thick warm nectar making her even slicker, more ready.

She came, grunting and hissing her pleasure and the feel of that big hard belly made it even better for me.

But I held off. I wanted her first time back to her natural size to be special for her.

"I wonder what people will think," I said softly, deliberately breaking the mood, making it last for her, "when we show up at our 50th Anniversary party and you're huge like this."

She giggled at that.

"50th?" she asked.

"Yeah," I said, leaning back into a position that allowed me to be as deep into her as possible, my palms gently caressing that taut skin.

"Umm," she said, giggling, "I'd be 87."

"Yep," I said, "and still my beautiful Earth Mother."

"Oh, shit," she sighed, and came again, "fill me up, give me your ManGift, and then drink me dry so we can sleep together."

So I did.

I didn't hurry, but I quit trying for control. My rhythm was slow and gentle and she came twice more, not those powerful orgasms that left her with only the back of her head and her heels touching the mattress, but gentle, flowing releases that soaked my cock and balls and thighs with her pleasure.

My own climax snuck up on me. I was caressing that big belly, feeling her relaxing after her orgasm and suddenly those muscles deep in my belly clenched sending the hot sticky jet of my semen deep into her, seeking the egg it wouldn't find.

"God, I love you," she sighed as I softened and slipped out, "now let me feed you."

I stretched out beside her and brushed her cheek with my fingertips.

"A real baby or the

faux

baby," I said softly, my palm gently rubbing the roundness of her belly, "I'm never going to let you be skinny again."

She giggled.

"Honey, the last time I was ever skinny was when I was about 12," she said.

She pulled me down for a kiss and then pushed me down to feed.

"That's right, Baby," she said, softly, as I latched on.

Her milk was warm and thick and sweet, and I suckled greedily.

My hand, meanwhile, trailed down her belly and found those inner lips, hanging even looser after the sex we had enjoyed. They were slick with her natural nectar and my leaking semen, as I gently played with them, rolling my finger around, tugging them, and feeling her breathing catch.

"Pervert," she murmured, but that didn't stop her from stroking my hair and humming a little lullaby.

I was still playing, masturbating her slowly, as I drifted into a nap.