She was twenty years of age and pregnant when I met her. My name is David--David Baxter--and I was 50 years of age at the time. Emily had been asked to go and stay with her Aunt Elsie and Uncle (by marriage) Gord who would support her through her pregnancy out of wedlock. Elsie was my best friend at the time. There was little tolerance in Emily's strict Mormon family for sex before marriage, let alone pregnancy. Aunt Elsie is Mormon too, so she was deemed a suitable guardian for Emily in the absence of her mom and dad. Unfortunately Uncle Gord wasn't so ideal.
Poor Emily was out of her depth in her pregnancy and hardly understood what was happening to her. She was very pretty and terribly naive; dressed in flowers and ribbon, she was so typical of feminized Mormon girls.
I found her indescribably attractive but was sure of my boundaries right from the beginning. I was going to respect her and the friendship I had with Elsie. She wasn't showing when she arrived at her Aunt's home. Two weeks after her arrival Aunt Elsie walked in on Emily and Uncle Gord kissing passionately. Emily was promptly ejected from the house, for it was no longer a home for anyone. In what was meant to be a short term arrangement I took Emily into my apartment with a solemn commitment to Elsie, and by proxy to Emily's mom and dad, to make sure that no harm came to her.
For Emily the whole situation was tragic. She botched a wrist slashing suicide during the first week with me and as long as I didn't disclose to her family what had happened, she promised not to attempt hurting herself again. So early in knowing her did we then have a bond of faith that was greater than her dwindling faith in God.
There were lots of tears, and for her an absence of hope that she could ever be rehabilitated in her community. She was right of course. I found myself becoming fonder of her by the day. She told me that Gord had come on to her and that she responded to him half in passion, half in fear.
There were several occasions when I held her close as she cried and each time I was annoyed with myself for getting hard as I felt her tremble in my arms and smelled the fragrance of her hair and skin. A couple of times it was for me complete intoxication when I inhaled her sweet breath and felt the wetness of her tears on my face pressed close to hers.
A month into her stay with me she had just begun to show. She had said little about her lover that had impregnated her; but it was clear by her silence she protected their memory together. Emily had slipped into a jag of tearful anxiety about her uncertain future one evening. I held her and tried to reassure her as we sat together on the couch.
There was something profound for me in that moment when I noticed for the first time that slight tell-tale swelling of her belly. I can remember saying the words as if it was another's voice: "I'm okay with you being pregnant here with me; you can stay even after the baby's born." I laid my hand gently on her belly and softly caressed the place beneath where another man's baby was growing. She placed her hand over mine and caressed it in a way that was something more than acknowledgement.
We stayed together like that for a long time, then slipped into a comfortable, mutual holding. I never wanted to let go of her. At midnight I asked her if she would like to sleep platonically in my bed. She smiled at me and said she would like that very much.
Both of us slipped into bed only partially undressed. I was first and lay quietly watching as she undressed to her bra, panties and translucent slip. Then Emily switched of the light and climbed lightly into bed where we both stripped to bare skin.
I had become very attached to her belly and placed my hand there again as I wrapped my arm from behind her. This time it was her soft bare skin that I was touching in that first amazing moment of awe and disbelief that I was lying with someone so young and beautiful. She covered my hand with hers and we lay close.
"If you want to stay with me, I'm glad you're having a baby," I whispered
"Another man's? You're okay with it?"
"Yes. In a way I'm glad it's another man's baby and not mine."
"Emily, I'm thirty years older than you. Tied to fidelity with me is like asking a sapling to reach for the sun in an ancient forest. You're young. I'm glad you had sex with a young man as long as you had pleasure with him."
She seemed confused: "Don't you want to make love to me?"
"Of course I do; I just think you need to be realistic about our relationship."
"Okay," she said, but still seemed confused; and I wasn't so certain of where I was taking this.
I'd been getting a slow and lazy hard-on while we were talking. I'd pulled my hips back to prevent my penis from touching her as she spooned into me with her butt. I think this was partly out of a weird kind of dated respect and partly out of the need to deny myself--a message to myself that I didn't deserve her. But I was getting even harder to the point where I couldn't pull back any further. I let it stay, the tip of it nestled into the crack of her ass. She pushed back a little and her breathing changed.
After a minute of us both holding this position, Emily said in a whisper, "You can do it to me if you want; I don't mind."
I slipped my hand between her legs and felt her wetness; I quickly guided my dick inside her body so warm. Emily gave a little moan and sighed as she pushed back to complete the deep, wet connection. I returned my hand to her belly, thinking of 'his' baby inside her. As I thought about 'him', my excitement and hard- on became more pronounced. I was genuinely shocked at my own body's response.
"I'm really glad you're having 'his' baby. I promise I'll be the best father in the world. I won't even pretend that the baby is mine; I wouldn't want to come between you and the man you made love to. I hope you'll always cherish that memory. You might even decide to have another baby with him." I'm sure she could feel my hard-on growing. "Even if we get married."
She had to have noticed my heart hammering against her back as I held her. My body was trembling now and I could feel myself close to ejaculating. "I've had a vasectomy," I lied. She contracted the muscles of her vagina. "No! No! No! Don't move." I felt myself on the edge and wanted to crank up the sexual tension further, imagining the filthiest things possible, even as I found a nicer way to speak my meaning. I caressed her belly. "His love is still inside here."
I heard her whisper a tentative 'yes.' I felt myself thrill at her response.
"It was so special between the two of you."
Again she whimpered the quietest 'yes.'
I quickly thought of something else to stop myself cumming, then returned to the offer and response of our ad-lib scripting, "That's good. Making a baby should be full of special caring and sexual pleasure. I wouldn't want it any other way for you even if we were married." My mouth was dry as I formulated the question, "You'd like to have more children, wouldn't you?"
She pushed back until the wet of her vagina connected and stayed pressed against my balls; then after a momentary pause I heard her say in whispered passion, 'Oh, yes.'
"Then I'll help you have babies with lovers. I promise! I promise! I promise," I exclaimed with each of the thrusts that Emily rocked to receive that spilled my sperm inside her.
We had both implicitly made a pact that was written in the fluids of our bodies that night. Our lovemaking continued throughout her pregnancy with variations to the theme of her need to have other children with lovers. But she remained restrained. I knew Emily could handle it in the context of children, but she was not free enough of her strict moral upbringing to think of sex with other men in the context of pure animal pleasure.
When she was eight months pregnant, we married, and I knew from the moment of our vows that I wanted her to have sex in the context of her impregnation and the fuck-lust of pleasure sharing with as many men as she could ever want. The lust burned inside me that I couldn't yet share with Emily, my wife.