Jack nods in understanding. “Are we ordering in, then?”
Jack
Something is amiss. A buck can just smell it when the herd is unsettled. Something about breeding that woman has set my husbands off-balance, and I’m not sure I like it. We have a certain peace in our home, one I work hard to maintain despite the stressors of my job. I have a clear delineation between my work life and my home life, though I find my work life has taken more and more of that time lately.
Maybe Bennett’s right and I should figure out how to come home earlier. He and Arthur make dinner most nights, which isn’t fair. Perhaps they need me now more than ever as we get ready for a fawn.
A fawn who could be mine. That is a baffling thought. I never thought I’d have children, not after Marilee left me. But I didn’t anticipate marrying Bennett and Arthur, either, in her wake.
What disturbs me most, and perhaps what worries me about their behavior, is how much the breeding bench changed me. I obsess over our surrogate every night as I fall asleep, remembering those red curls, the freckled butt, the smooth curve of her hips under my hands as I’d slid into her. And the squeeze of her pussy? The way she gripped me and moaned under me—I can’t get it out of my head.
Last night, the urge to rut grew so unbearable, I woke Arthur from a dead sleep by palming his dick through his boxers. Obediently he’d pulled them down, and Bennett only woke up when we were mid-coitus. He slid down and licked Arthur’s cock until our sweet husband exploded, and I easily let off with him.
I wonder if our seed has taken yet. No call from DreamTogether, but it’s early still. I hope she’s doing well. Is she eating right? Where does she live?
This would all be much easier if she were already pregnant, and it would certainly be cheaper. But I want another chance. I want to go first next time, to rile her up and then sink my cock into her and fuck her until she comes around me again like an earthquake.
Late at night, with the other two already snoring, I hope that Bennett and Arthur aren’t having thoughts like these.
That could be disastrous.
Seven
Bree
The next night on my stream, the chat has at least fifty more people in it than it usually does.
“Wow, hello, newcomers,” I say when I flip on the camera. “Sorry to break it to you, but Rick isn’t here today.”
Crying emojis and little thumbs down fill up the chat. I smirk at the camera.
“Well, maybe you’ll get lucky and he’ll come again.” I blow a kiss. “Send good vibes, folks.”
hope he doesn’t come back, says GingerWatcher. i prefer you alone.
Hmm. I don’t like the sound of that. Luckily, he’s the only one who feels that way.
Ignoring that comment, I continue with the show. But I’m a little distracted as I work, thinking about having Mangelli here last night, and I really do hope we get another chance.
After turning off the lights and cleaning up, I hesitate on sending him a text message. I don’t know what his situation is with his spouses, so whatever I say should be safe for anyone’s eyes.
I decide on sending something innocuous.
You coming to yoga on Thursday?
The response comes after only a few seconds.
Yep! We’re still getting together for drinks after?
For a split second, I wonder what he’s talking about before I realize it’s code.
You’re on.
Then it’s time to go and pee on the pregnancy test, like I do every night. I set it on the counter and wait the required time before flipping it over to see the result.
Nothing yet.
The week trudges by as I wait for Thursday. My surge of viewers tapered off after a day or two, which is disappointing, but I make a fine living as it is. I don’t need to stress, even though it’s instinctual. We didn’t have much growing up. I survived off free school lunches until I was out of high school, and I didn’t attend college because I didn’t want to take on the debt. But now I’m stable with the viewership I have, and stable is all I can ask for.
