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The Fertile Lingerie Model
Book Themes:
/> Cuckolding, Breeding, Impregnating Creampies, Cheating, and Oral Sex
Word Count:
5,285
I’d worked backstage as a stagehand for so long, for many of these lingerie fashion shows, that they were all starting to bleed together. That all of the women just sort of started to look the same, with their fake tans and their long, perfect hair, and the sneer they always had for me as I hammered the set, or fixed up one of the stage props.
I knew most of my buddies thought I had the best job in the world, but being surrounded by supermodels wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.
Not until I saw her, crying in the dressing room as everyone else pretended she wasn’t there. But I couldn’t help that it tugged my heartstrings to see the pretty young woman looking so broken up.
When I went over and knelt before her, asking what’s wrong, though, I couldn’t believe my ears.
“My husband’s sterile!” she whimpered, her hand unfolding and revealing the phone she must have just hung up on. My face fell. I already had two beautiful kids, but they lived with my ex-wife. I’d be devastated, though, if I couldn’t have had them, so I understood her pain.
I don’t even really remember how the conversation went after that. Not until she asked me if I might help her out.
We met at my place, my bachelor pad. The apartment I took out after my ex-wife and I split up. It was a decent place. After all, I made a good living and needed somewhere decent to take my kids for those weekends I had them.
It was in a brick building downtown, with ostensibly two floors. The master bedroom up above, the small guest bedrooms below with the living room and kitchen.
I dressed nice for her visit, or at least as nice as I felt comfortable doing. I wasn’t a fancy guy, usually denims and plaid shirts. Hey, I was a workin’ guy, alright? But this time, I went for a nice turtleneck black sweater… and dark denims. Okay, it wasn’t that different.
But I did brush my dark hair, groom my beard and splash on a bit of cologne. Just a tiny hint though. I couldn’t stand artificial scents, and so it was just the slightest accent to go along with my natural musk.
When the buzzer to my place went off, I let her on up, and waited for her knock. I was a little nervous. The models had a knack for looking rather intimidating and holier-than-thou. I mean, I was a handsome guy, six foot four, well built and muscular. I took care of myself and I certainly didn’t look my age. But I wasn’t rich, and I was used to a humble lifestyle.
Beer with friends, and working hard. That sums up most of my life now that my kids are off with my ex-wife.
The knock finally came, and I opened the door. I honestly don’t know what I was expecting from the whole thing, but I’ll tell you this: I wasn’t expecting what came of it all.
She was dressed to the nines, her dark hair pulled back from her face, high cheekbones and smoky eyes batting up at me. She still had on her killer stilettos, her black and silver dress hugging the curves I was already familiar with from the dressing room, and the little leather jacket she wore over her shoulders was quickly stripped away and offered to me as she glanced around.
“This is a cute place,” she said, not meaning to sound as condescending as she did, I could tell. I’d wipe that smug grin off her face before long, though. After all, she’s the one that needed me in all this.
She then lifted her hand, holding out a brown paper bag to me. “I brought champagne.”
I hung her coat up by the door and took the bottle from her, pulling it out of the bag to find a decent bottle of booze. Not the sort of thing I’d buy for myself, but then I didn’t even like champagne.
“Looks good,” I said with a smile, gesturing her over towards my living room. A black sofa, white sofa-chair, and a coffee table next to the TV and the large windows overlooking the town. “I’ll just go poor this up for us,” I said, and did just that in the kitchen.
Luckily I carried a couple wine glasses for just such occasions I might have some special lady come over. A bachelor can’t be caught off guard after all.
“You find the place alright?” I asked before emerging, glasses in hand.
“I had my driver bring me,” she said with a smile that was part way too smug, but mostly just oblivious to the things she was saying as she accepted the drink. Considering how sullen and sad I’d seen her, I knew she was human, with real emotions. She just worked hard to hide it beneath this veil of pride, if you could call it that.
She sat upon my sofa, her long legs crossed daintily as her high heeled foot bobbed in the air, the muscles in her thighs outlined so beautifully.
I sat myself on down next to her, my arm up on the back of the sofa as I took a sip of the champagne. I didn’t care for it much honestly, not at all, but whatever, I drank it down and smiled sympathetically to her.
“It must be tough. Even with what happened between my ex-wife and I, my kids are the most important thing in my life,” I said, looking at her and trying not to oggle. “You’re a beautiful, successful woman too, you have every reason and right to want to have a child of your own while in the prime of your life.”
She let out a bitter laugh.
