The Bishop’s Hotwife: Part 5Some things are not negotiable..

Based on a post by Wendy Trilby, in 5 parts. Listen to the Podcast at Explicit Novels.

Chapter 10: So What Happens Now.

That

was the last I saw of Mrs. Barton. Two days after that conversation, I

headed back to Boston to complete my final year of law school.

I had two choices: dwell on the love I had found and now lost or apply that energy into my studies. I chose the latter.

Mrs.

Barton would text me from time to time and even ask if I was coming

home for the holidays. I could have ignored her texts, but instead, I'd

reply with one-word answers.

Busy.

Can't.

No.

I wasn't trying to be rude, but I was still processing this strange brew of deceit and devotion, that had left me so fucked up.

At times, I would masturbate to the memories of our time together, but visions of The Bishop would cloud those thoughts.

I

spent Christmas in Boston, telling each of my friends a different story

about where I would be. Although I had lost control of my life last

summer, I knew that if I focused on my studies, I could gain control

over my thoughts.

But

I could not control my dreams, and nearly every night I'd be with

Mandy. The Bishop was never in those dreams, just she and I. The dreams

were almost never sexual. It would be us spending time together. At

most, we held hands or kissed.

I

knew I should see a therapist about my experience, but I remembered the

threat Mandy said could come to her if our tryst was made public in any

way or form. Time and distance would have to be my therapy.

It was mid-January when I came out of Langdell Hall on the Harvard campus and saw her standing there. She was all alone.

I

assumed I was dreaming. I must have been asleep, but a student on a

Citybike nearly hit me, and I realized I was very much awake.

Her face showed a little weight, but in her winter coat, you couldn't tell she was six months pregnant.

I asked her why she was there. Was everything Okay? Was she okay?

Her answer was unexpected. Everything was fine. Perfect. Except she felt lonely.

She

shared that she had cried uncontrollably every morning since our last

day. She sank into a depression and spent several days at my house,

lying in our bed.

The

Bishop had hired a nanny to cover for her time away from home. None of

this was planned for in the grand scheme and The Bishop had grown angry

with her and livid with me.

I

had so much to say to her. I had rehearsed countless ways to insult

her, to bring her down. She had used me in the worst possible way and

had exploited my father. For eighteen years, she and The Bishop had

manipulated us so that he could appear to be a virile man of the church.

Meanwhile, he degraded his wife to maintain that stature. I was

prepared to unleash my hatred on this woman.

So here she was, and I; didn't say any of that.

She didn't need my semen, my support, my permission. She was here for me.

"Can we talk?" she asked.

We walked through the campus, coming to a quiet place to sit and talk.

"Does The Bishop know you're here?"

"No, I'm in Boston for a physical at Brigham and Women's. A woman at forty, they treat a pregnancy like it's high risk."

"You came to Boston for a physical?"

"I'm at seven months, so I won't be able to travel soon."

"But there's nothing wrong? Nothing that requires you to be here?"

"Yes, there is. You."

She had a difficult time making eye contact and looked at her lap as she spoke.

"I've

missed you. I realized how hurt you were when summer ended. We had so

much fun, shared so much together, and then the truth; "

"Yeah, the truth. That was a hell of a lot of truth."

"I know. I didn't see it coming. It was different with your father,"

"See what coming?"

"My feelings for you. I mean, with your dad, it was fun and comforting, and we never let emotions get in the way."

"Well, I'm not my dad, I guess. I've only impregnated you once."

I

rolled my eyes. That wasn't necessary, and it wasn't what I wanted to

say. I was overjoyed she was here and insulting her wasn't what I wanted

to do. Thankfully, she let it go.

"I

never felt for your father what I feel for you. That's what I came here

to say. I thought this feeling would go away when you left. It didn't,

it got worse."

We sat there in silence. She had, without stating the words, seemingly proclaimed everlasting love for me.

"So, what happens now?"

I

return to Utah tomorrow. In two months, our daughter will be born.

Three months later, you graduate, and hopefully, three months after

that, you'll let me come to you when I'm ready for another child.

"So, nothing changes? This charade continues?"

"Everything changes. I think I made it clear how I feel for you. Do you understand how complicated that is for me?"

She was a master of bringing the story back to herself.

Complicated for her? She had created this world, she chose it; I had been conscripted.

Still,

I did feel for her. I knew how much I wanted to be with her, and if her

desire for me was even a fraction of that, her days were long and

wanting.

She got up to go.

"I have an appointment. But I'm staying at the Copley Plaza if you want to come by and say goodbye or talk some more."

She

stood before me with a glow that only a pregnant woman can achieve. Her

hair was thick and lustrous, her face was full, and her belly was

distended with our child warm inside.

I stood to face here.

"Of course, we don't have to talk," she said, then turned and walked across the quad toward a waiting town car.

It was early evening when I arrived at the Copley Plaza Hotel. I went to the front desk to find her room.

"Can you call Amanda Barton's room for me. Tell her Ethan is here?"

The clerk handed me a room key.

"She said her husband was coming by. Ethan, is it?"

"Yes, Ethan. Her husband," I said, trying to sound sincere. "I'm her husband."

The clerk handed me a room key and gestured to the elevators.

"14 23, and congratulations."

I

smiled and nodded. I was her husband again. Apparently, I was to be

congratulated for that. Oh, wait, he meant for her pregnancy. Okay,

whatever.

I

gently knocked on the hotel room door, but with the key in hand, I

unlocked it and entered. It was a two-room suite, and I could hear the

shower running.

"Ethan?" she asked from the bathroom.

"Umm, yeah. They gave me a room key, so I let myself in."

I

heard the water shut off, and a few moments later, she walked into the

suite's living area wearing a thick hotel robe and drying her hair.

"I might have gone heavy on the coffee today."

"Should you even be drinking coffee?"

"Decaf. Not as much fun, but it turns out the poop effect is the same."

"And so, the shower."

She smiled.

"You know me. Poop and a shower. Some things don't change even if my body has."

I

was trying to visualize her beneath the robe. We had spent most of the

summer naked and in each other's arms, but there was a different body

under that terrycloth, and I longed to see it.

Perhaps my gaze betrayed me.

"You're curious, aren't you?" she said with a mischievous smile.

"Very."

I could tell she was anxious, which was a notable shift from her typically confident demeanor.

She

kept her gaze on me, and she reached for the tie of her robe, fingers

trembling slightly, and then let it slip away, revealing her heavily

pregnant form.

I

noticed a line of skin discoloration from her cunt up to her belly and

beyond. She had always had protruding nipples due to her breastfeeding,

but I had never seen her areolas so large and dark.

I had so many questions about female physiology during pregnancy, but this didn't seem like the right time to ask.

I

thought I might be put off by seeing her pregnant, especially with my

child; however, I'm not sure if it was me or nature, but I found myself

turned on.

She

placed her hand on the swell of her belly and gently bit her lip,

waiting for my approval or fearing my disapproval. Her tits were once

again heavy, her nipples thicker and darker than I remembered, pointed

down.

"You look; incredible," I said, closing the distance between us.

"I've missed you. I wanted to come here so many times to see you and;"

I cut her off.

"I missed you, too."

"With

your father, he was next door, and I would go over to talk with him.

But he was just a friend. I didn't need him like I need you."

"But you got what you needed from both of us."

She looked down and rubbed her belly with a smile.

"Not this," she said, referring to our child within her.

"This," she said as she moved in and kissed me passionately.

The

familiarity, the plumpness of her lips, the taste of her mouth, the

smell of her skin, brought back the feelings of elation from the summer,

and we practically melted together.

She

wrapped her arms around my shoulders, clinging to me. Our kisses grew

deeper as the primal urge for us to reconnect intensified. On an animal

level, her body sensed that I was the father of her unborn child, and

her hormones sent signal after signal to her brain to draw me close, to

give me pleasure, to keep me nearby, and let me protect her.

My body responded in kind. I wanted to join her, but was unsure how.

"How do we do this?" I asked, genuinely bewildered.

She

backed up to the bed and sat so her face was at my waist. She didn't

speak but went to work unbuckling by belt and a moment later, freeing my

cock.

She

smiled at seeing it once again. Moving her hair to the side, she took

it in hand and brought her mouth down on my shaft, warming it with her

saliva. The feeling was familiar, and I sighed in relief. She continued

to work my cock, gently massaging the shaft.

Having

never had sex with a pregnant woman, I wondered if this was it, but I

recalled her one command, that I always finish in her pussy. Then I

remembered that was probably just part of the ruse.

Perhaps this blowjob is the end game. I'll just let her lead.

After

a while she released my cock from her mouth and crawled back on the

bed. Her pussy was shaven, More so than in the summer. She lay on her

back, her arms out, and then beckoned me to join her.

I

crawled to her side, she took her tit in hand, holding it out for me.

Careful not to put my weight on her, I brought my mouth to her thick

nipple. It was plumper than last summer and incredibly swollen. I gently

played and applied pressure with my mouth, as when she fed me in the

past, but nothing came out.

She

stroked my head gently, then brought her fingers to her tits. I

released her nipple and watched as she tugged and manipulated it until a

thick ooze of cream trickled out.

"For

you," she whispered, and I returned to her nipple and her nurturing of

me. I often wonder if my desire to nurse on her tits stemmed from not

having a mother in my childhood.

But

this wasn't one of those moments of wonder regarding my issues; this

was her offering her body to me. With my other hand, I gently kneaded

her right tit.

Her

legs were akimbo, and my feet were on the ground as she scooched to the

corner of the bed. She held my shaft and gently guided it in. Despite

all our other positions, this was the perfect way to end this session. I

supported my body with my arms, gently pressing against her belly, but

with no pressure. Her soft tits swayed with the rhythm my cock sunk into

her.

She

dug her nails into my back as my cock pushed the walls of her labia. I

could feel them close in and gasp my shaft with each push and pull. Her

body seemed to recognize and anticipate my impending ejaculation, and a

rush of hormones thickened her vaginal lubricants into a milky lather,

creating an intense friction. It was as if her body was rewarding me for

siring her in utero child, creating a velvety smoothness to in exchange

for the gift of life. She could hear my moans, louder than in the past.

"It's different, right?" she said between gasps.

"It's amazing," I managed to reply.

"My body has selected you. It's rewarding you. Go ahead, you can ride me hard. I want you to feel this."

I increased my thrusts, enjoying each sensation from the exquisite lubrication she was creating within her.

The

slick velvet of her walls seemed to close in on my shaft, like closing

time in a bar. I brought my mouth to hers, pressing against her flesh. A

trickle of her creamy colostrum dribbled from her thick nipples without

any provocation.

Our

mouths met, tongues battled and then I felt myself beginning to cum.

She felt it, too, and pulled me in tighter so my seed would not escape.

Pulse

after pulse, each depositing an excess of my semen, useless as it may

be, filling her folds. She bit my lip as her orgasm hit, unintentionally

drawing blood that intermingled with our kissing.

As

our twin orgasms subsided, I remained deep within her per her original

instructions. Never remove myself without her permission.

Finally,

she nodded, which was permission to withdraw, and I gently pulled out. A

rush of cum followed along with an unladylike slurping queef.

She winced. But not in pain, but loss.

"I hate that feeling. When you pull out, I hate it."

She

was still panting, and I was exhausted as I carefully rolled off her

and then moved in behind her so my thick, potent cum mixed with her

creamy, velvety fluid, rested against the crack of her ass as we both

came down together.

She

pulled me in, savoring the comfort of our embrace, as she began to

contemplate the reality of our actions. I could tell she loved being

cradled in my arms as my warmth filled her inside. She had no regrets

about this moment.

On

the other hand, I wished this weren't just a one-night event and that

she would stay here in Boston with me. But in the morning, she was on a

plane back to Utah, back to The Bishop, ready to bear our child, whom he

would claim as his own.

I hated that man for possessing two things that were rightfully mine.

Hated him.

Chapter 11: This Is Not A Negotiation.

It

was late April when Nelly was born. I received a birth announcement

featuring the entire Barton family gathered around Mandy and my baby.

There they were; my brothers and sisters, along with The Bishop. I felt

his gaze as if his eyes were looking directly at me from the still

photo. His smile conveyed everything.

You provide, and I'll take it all.

If I told you the name Daniel Plainview, and said you knew who that was, then know this: The Bishop was worse. I hated him.

My

graduation came and went. Mandy and the family sent me a card, but none

of them came to see me walk across the stage. Why should they? I'm just

the nice guy from next door. Nothing more. I had to remind myself that

these people were not my family. That child wasn't mine to raise.

As

emotionally painful as it was, my association with The Bishop has paid

off. I gained admission to a prestigious law school and now held a

position at a prominent law firm in Denver, with the chance to become a

partner by the time I turn thirty. I owed all of this to The Bishop, and

that infuriated me.

My

office in Denver overlooked the distant Rocky Mountains. I know I could

have achieved all this on my own. I could have been accepted into

Harvard Law and secured this job; I was certain of it. Well, I was sure

of it. My college grades were good, and I tested well.

Who was I kidding? This was all part of a transaction. And that would be fine if I hadn't fallen in love with Mandy.

Who wouldn't want a no-strings relationship with an attractive woman in exchange for success? Everyone benefits.

So why did I feel like I made a deal with the Devil?

Speaking

of the devil, I had been dwelling on this because of the meeting I had

scheduled for 11 o'clock. The Bishop was in Denver on business and had

asked to meet with me. He insisted on it being in my office.

It

was fifteen minutes late when my secretary informed me that he was

there. A classic power move: keeping me waiting to show his dominance.

Throughout

all the years I had known The Bishop, I never had a private

conversation with him. Honestly, I don't think we'd ever discussed

anything substantial at all.

He

entered and surveyed my spacious office with admiration, then took a

seat and fixed his gaze on me. He was a large man, exuding pride and

power, and he maintained his stare until it became uncomfortable.

"You can say, thank you," he began.

"Excuse me?" I replied, already lost.

"That view, this office, that degree, and my wife. You can say thank you."

You son of a bitch.

"Thank you. I'm pretty sure I've said it before."

"I like to hear it from time to time."

"How is Amanda?" I asked. She was my only concern.

Mrs.

Barton is well. The baby is healthy. She's gotten back in shape. That

child is a blessing from God. The entire Temple is excited about our

gift."

"I'm happy for you."

"I don't have a lot of time, Ethan. I've come here to discuss the final chapter of this story."

And here it was, another transaction.

"Mrs. Barton is ovulating again. She's cut short her breastfeeding for Nelly and is ready to conceive our 7th child."

"How does she feel about this?" I asked.

"She's a dedicated wife of a bastion of the church. That woman understands her traditional role in growing our family.

"Traditional?"

"Yes, Ethan, traditional."

His face was serious and almost deadly. He was threatening me without words. The man was worse than a mob boss.

I held up my hands in mock surrender; I'd not push the issue further.

"You

will inseminate Mrs. Barton. I've had your schedule cleared in two

weeks. You'll pick her up in Breckenridge. We have a Chalet high up the

Telluride mountainside. It's private, remote, and perfect for this job.

You'll spend the week together. Knowing her fertility and your motility,

that should suffice."

"And then?"

"And

then she returns home, you return to Denver, and you never come back to

Provo. I've already begun the process of selling your Father's home."

"It's my home and I don't want to sell it."

"But you will. The paperwork is on your desk. You'll get far beyond market price. I'll make sure of it."

"Mandy likes to use the house, and I have no problem with that."

"She'll have no use for that house with seven children. And, as I said, your privileges in Provo, in all of Utah, are revoked."

The nerve of this guy, telling me I could never go home again. He was exiling me. Of course, I knew why.

"If

there are no more questions, we don't need to see each other again.

Please respect Mrs. Barton, I'm sure you will, and we'll conclude this

arrangement neatly."

He turned to leave.

"I don't think we have closed the negotiations yet."

The Bishop turned to look at me, sizing me up.

"Negotiations? This is not a negotiation."

"Well, if I have something you need. This continues to be a negotiation."

"So, what is it, money? I know what they're paying you here. I don't think you need to put the bite on me."

"No money."

"Then, we're done."

"I want you to watch."

He looked at me coldly and hard.

"I

want you to watch me make love to your wife. I want you to see me enter

her body. I want you to hear her pleasure. I want you to smell the

sweat our bodies create and the room's heat. I must watch her cunt drip

with the juices of her arousal. You’ll watch my turgid cock slide deep

into her hungry cunt. Watch me kiss her and fondle her pendulous tits.

You’ll see my cock pound her cunt and erupt my cum. My verile Bryant

balls will fill her, find her fertile egg, and claim; before God and all

creation, that a Bryant child has been created. You will watch me put

my child in her. That's what I want."

"You think that will bother me?"

"No,

I don't think you have a conscience. But I want you to see Mandy in a

state of bliss you could never provide. But you will, by your own

beliefs; be revealed for all eternity, to be a fraud. I may not be as

devoted to your LDS club, but I do believe that what a man sows, he

ultimately reaps."

He smiled and turned to leave.

"Quid pro quo. If I have to watch, so do you."

"Watch what?"

"Did

you know that each night when she would come home from being with you

or your father, I would have sex with her as well? Every time, I would

ejaculate inside her along with your semen or his. I even recorded it."

He held up his phone.

"Do you want to see the videos?

The thought of him doing this was obscene. "Why?" I didn't have to ask, I understood the reason.

I

had studied this in law school. I was the putative father of Nelly; my

father was the putative father of the other kids. Our legal parental

status had never been established, and The Bishop had ensured it would

never occur.

My

Father or I could claim paternity, but unless The Bishop permitted the

children to have their DNA tested, a claim wouldn't go anywhere.

Even

if I obtained some kind of court order, The Bishop's assertion of

having had sex with Mandy on the same nights as I did, established him

as the presumptive father. The videos of served as undeniable proof.

In shorthand, he was a wolf who routinely marked his territory to keep other Alphas at bay. And he was good at it.

"I'll watch, then you watch and I hope you enjoy the show."

He got up and looked at me with a condescending sneer.

"For a Harvard man, I expected a much more rigorous negotiation."

He left.

That motherfucker!

I'd have gladly paid him for being with Mandy again. But somehow I just turned this into a tag team cuck show.

I only hoped she would be okay with the strange arrangement.

He's Out There.

The

arrangements were made. The Bishop would bring Mandy to their ski

chalet in Breckenridge. She and I would spend the better part of a week

together and have sex at least twice a day.

I drove along the twisting, turning road up the mountain, glad to have four-wheel drive because these roads were treacherous.

The

charming A-frame perched on the mountainside was romantic, offering an

endless view of the Rockies. This structure exemplified classic A-frame

architecture, with soaring glass windows rising to meet the pointed

roofline. Built into the hillside, the second floor opened onto a

hilltop patio that featured a hot tub.

Inside

the chalet, the wall of windows offered a sweeping view of the 10-mile

range. There was no bedroom; only a large loft upstairs above the living

space, featuring a huge king-sized bed directly beneath a skylight that

offered endless views of the universe.

The

kitchen was stocked, and I found four bottles near the coffee bar;

Kahlúa, vodka, Baileys, and what looked to be very expensive bourbon.

I

could hear a car approaching the narrow drive and prepared myself. I

had requested this, so if this was fucked up, that was on me.

The door opened, and Mandy walked in alone.

I was relieved.

"So, he didn't come," I said as we met in a tight embrace.

"He did. He's out there. I asked him to wait."

"I'm sorry about this," I blurted out, "I was only thinking of myself. I wanted to get back at him."

She held my face and gently kissed me, stopping me from continuing.

"No, it's all good. I want this too. He needs to see what love is. Something he's incapable of providing."

As she kissed me, memories of all our encounters flooded back. I desperately wanted her now.

"We drove here from Provo. We never talked once."

She was dressed warmly, but the fire was making the chalet toasty. She took off her coat to reveal a modest outfit.

"I wanted to wear something a little sexier, but The Bishop chose my clothes."

She then bit her lip in that sexy way that drove me nuts.

"He

even made me wear my garments; six hours in the car. Six hours in those

garments, thinking of you," she said with a wicked smile.

My

cock was inflating as she spoke. The Bishop had unknowingly made her

wear the very garments that fed my kink, the creation of her

intoxicating essence, her personal aphrodisiac just for me.

"Does he know?" I asked.

"He has no idea," she said with a giggle.

She

led the way up to the loft and approached the dresser, where she began

to remove her jewelry. As she always did, she took off her wedding ring.

"Put it back on," I whispered.

She smiled and obeyed.

"Lay on the bed, head off the side," she whispered, "I have a treat for you."

I

took off my shirt, then my pants, then lay across the width of the bed

with my head tipped back off the side as I watched her undress from this

upside-down position.

"Is he coming in?" I asked.

"Don't think about that," she whispered. "Think about this."

With

that, she slid her skirt down to reveal the thick, awkward

undergarments that her religion expected her to wear. She took off her

top and as usual, she wore her bra over the upper garment, which she

quickly unsnapped, allowing her large tits to drop slightly yet still

shrouded in the white undergarment.

"The

car was extra warm," she whispered as she approached my tipped-back

head. "The Bishop wanted to turn down the heat, but I wanted to heat up

my body; for you."

My

head remained tipped back off the side of the bed as she brought

herself to me, then straddled my face and lay across my so her garment

clad pussy was near my face and her head was near my cock. I could smell

her essence and desperately wanted a taste, but she liked the slow

burn.

I

wanted The Bishop to see this. I'm sure he thought Mandy and I had

conventional, conservative vanilla sex. But here she was about to feed

me her cunt for the sheer pleasure it gave us both.

I knew vanilla wasn't her favorite flavor. Did he?

As

for me, my favorite flavor was hanging less than an inch over my face,

marinated by a long drive, ripe with anticipation of being tasted.

Her hands slipped across my torso.

"I

missed this body," she purred as she located my cock about to burst

through my underwear. She gently massaged it as I pushed my face into

the wetness of her garments. The thin cloth of our underwear remaining

the only barrier between us.

She began to massage my cock through my underwear, but could longer bear her undergarments blocking my tongue from her clit.

She

stood up, stepped back, put her hands to her hips and gently pulled

down her garments to reveal her pussy, thick with a dark bush. Usually,

she kept it very modest, or clean-shaven, so this was different. She

moved forward, once again straddling my face, her thick black mat of

pubic hair, strong with her enticing odor.

"I let it grow for you," she whispered.

The

thick, wet pubic hair had a heady aroma of a woman in heat. No sweet

perfume here, only the honest, natural fragrance of her arousal.

Her

large clit poked through the dark matt of black hair. A thin drip of

clear liquid gathered on the pink round button and held. She waited,

hoping it would drip.

Bending

her knees, she brought her soaked and fragrant pussy to my face,

planting her slit over my mouth with my nose pressed against her ass. I

inhaled her essence as she exhaled in pleasure. Slowly she dragged her

pussy forward and back across my face with gentle moans.

Her

thighs trembled with her arousal. A second wave of her pungent but

feminine aroma filled my senses. She began to grind gently then lay

naked across my body her head ever so close to my waist.

She peeled my underwear back to reveal my cock, and smiled, giving it gentle kisses while she masturbated me.

She

stood up, keeping over me her pussy on my face and moaned as my tongue

got to work. She gently peeled herself off, stepped back, and leaned

down to kiss my face and taste herself on my lips. As much as I loved

her fragrant essence, I think she enjoyed it even more.

She

crawled onto the bed where we intertwined, kissing as she pulled her

top off, and I shed my underwear. We were now as we liked it best, naked

and feeling skin on skin, our bodies moving against each other.

I

rolled atop her, pushing my manhood against the soft roll of her belly,

the last hints of her recent pregnancy. Her tits hung left and right,

summoned by gravity. She smiled and held her left tit up to me.

I

knew she was done breastfeeding, so there was little chance of drawing

milk from her. But I tried, nonetheless. Feeding me or not, she enjoyed

the sensation of my suckling and moaned.

I

backed off and looked at this blonde beauty as she put her arms up,

grasping the bed sheets above her, symbolically surrounding her body to

me.

Pressing

my cock against her the dark mat of fur that glistening from the

wetness of her folds I guided my mushroom cap cock tip up and down her

opening, teasing it.

Her

clit had swollen with the slow burn and when my cockhead glanced off

it, she would suck in a breath and hold it, to prolong the pleasure.

She was anxious to get to it and spread her legs wide, opening a pink pathway through her dark tangle of pubic hair.

"Please," she whispered in gentle desperation.

This

was not a time for a slow burn and I slid my cock into her velvety

wetness. She grasped the sheets even tighter as my cock distended her

pussy walls. It was evident she had not had sex in a long time.

She gently began to move her hips in a hula fashion causing her cunt to clamp on to my cock and massage it.

Placing

my hand on her soft belly, I enjoyed watching my cock disappearing into

her slit. When I would pull out, her youthful pussy would remain

clamped to my cock and her tight lips would stretch, not wanting to

break their grip.

There was no sound other than our heavy breathing and the wet noises my cock was causing her pussy to make.

"I'm close," I whispered.

It was happening faster than I hoped, but it had been too long, and per instructions, I hadn't masturbated in weeks.

"Me too," she whispered.

"Do it from behind," a voice said without emotion.

I

looked up and The Bishop was sitting in a chair nearby, a glass of

whisky in his hand, which he gently sipped as he watched us.

I

pulled up and out and looked at the man. In my bliss, I had forgotten

that I was the one who requested he be here, and now lost in my

pleasure, I didn't hear him enter the room.

"Greater odds of conception," he growled. "Do it from behind."

I

wanted him to see me, please, and inseminate his wife as some power

play, but right now, with him in the room, it didn't feel like I hoped

it would.

"From behind," he said again in a tone that let us know this wasn't open to negotiation.

She looked at me with eyes that seemed to say we should do as instructed.

Mandy

rolled from her back to her front, and her wet cunt released a gentle

pist sounding queef, as if beckoning me to hear a secret.

She kept her knees on the bed and assumed the doggy position with her ass presented toward me. She lowered her torso halfway.

We had done it this way countless times, and I now knew why: to increase the likelihood of conception.

I

looked at her ass and her hairy back pussy, both presented to me and

lost myself in desire. While this might be the best way to impregnate a

woman, it was also the best way to pleasure her and the best way to

stare her husband in the eyes as I did it.

Her

pussy lips were sealed with her glycine thick wetness. She widened her

stance, reached back and drew a finger down her slit opening it for me.

Her pink inside contrasted with the dark pubic hair she sported across

her cunt and around her anus.

I

could smell the richness from her pussy. I knew the room was filling

with the smell of our sex, another minor victory for me as I hoped the

odor, which we both loved, was proving offensive to him.

I

placed my hands on her ass and moved forward. Her pussy lips were like a

landing strip, and I walked myself forward sliding into her warmth

where I belonged.

For

her part, she kept her head down, letting her hair spill over. Unlike

when we fucked in front of Gideon and she enjoyed watching his reaction,

she chose to keep her eyes down, not wanting eye contact with The

Bishop.

My

cock was met with greasy sounds as I moved back and forth. In this

position, her pussy was tight, and my cock went deep. I held myself

inside simply for her pleasure, then out. Her sphincter, which we had

put in play in the summer opened and closed with each thrust beckoning

me to give it a taste of my cock, but we were here for procreation, so

feeding that kitty was not on the menu.

It

had been so long since we had been together like this, we knew either

one of us would cum quickly. It was Mandy who went first.

She

moaned long and low as she came. While my orgasm was required, hers

only served to inflict emotional damage on The Bishop, who was hearing

and seeing proof positive his wife wasn't in this just for my seed; she

wanted the pleasure only I could provide.

I

could have prolonged my orgasm, but I had done what I set out to do. I

had pleasured his wife in front of him, and now I would impregnate her.

Two things he was incapable of doing.

I

let out a long, low groan as I watched The Bishop. I felt my pent-up

seed pouring into her. Deep inside, I imagined it racing to every hollow

spot, seeking her cervix and already pushing past.

Feeling

me cum deep inside her caused Mandy's orgasm to roll on long and slow. I

ran my hands across her back, massaging it. Her moans turned to more of

a hum as she kept moving her ass, doing her best to keep me inside

until she had milked me dry.

Our bodies came to a stop, and I slumped over her back.

Finally, I relaxed and gently pulled out. I could see the familiar wince in her face, not from pain, but from loss.

She rolled over, and I crawled forward. Her pussy, now filled with my seed, made another pist sound. She held me tight.

She

grasped my cock, coated in cum and her pleasure put the tip of it back

in her pussy and gently masturbated it, coaxing a few last drops of my

sperm.

We

then lay there as I rolled back to get my breath. The room was silent,

the air thick with our bodily aromas and the smell of the fireplace

downstairs.

The

Bishop rose from his chair, coming into the light created by the fire.

He looked down on the two of us, and then took his right hand toward

Mandy and slid a finger inside her.

Mandy

shuddered as the intrusion had all the emotion of a gynecological exam.

He removed his fingers and examined them. I could see he was looking to

confirm that I had cum in his wife.

When satisfied, he wiped his fingers on the sheets and headed down the stairs to the big room.

I could hear him rummaging around downstairs as Mandy whispered to me.

"He's going to leave soon, so we'll be alone."

"What about the part where he has sex with you? That paternity nonsense he talked about."

"I'll go downstairs and take care of it. I don't want you to be a part of that."

I

was grateful not to have to see him with her, but I was also worried.

What if she liked being with him? A million thoughts went through my

head.

Mandy got up and put on a robe.

"I'll come with you," I replied.

"No, you don't want to do that. I'll be right back."

She

left me with a gentle kiss and walked down the stairs to get faux

inseminated by that beast so he could pretend that my child was his.

Downstairs I could hear low voices, and I had to resist the urge to go down and intervene. I knew what he was doing to her.

I heard the door to the Chalet close, and then Mandy returned to the room. She was silent and resolved and sat down on the bed.

I moved in next to her and held her tight.

"Did he;"

She shook her head no.

"He tried," she began, "but he couldn't get an erection. Maybe the whisky."

"He's coming back tomorrow to try again."

"Let's get out of here. We can find another place. You can come back to Denver and be with me."

She moved in close to me and held on tight.

"You know how this works, Ethan. I can't just follow my heart."

"So, you admit you want to be with me."

"You know that."

"But I want to hear it from you, now."

She looked at me with sincere eyes that telegraphed her lost situation.

"I want to be with you forever; " she whispered.

Hearing those words filled me with hope. She loved me, just like I loved her. No more playing pretend; this was real.

She

moved her body across me, straddling me. I could feel the wetness of

our lovemaking on my cock, which had already grown past half mast. She

leaned forward, allowing her folds to open and creating a path for me to

reenter her.

"I

want you to raise our children together," she said, "I want to raise

your siblings as our children. I want you to give us another child."

These were my desires too, but in a few days, she would be gone, and it was unlikely I would ever see her again.

She

let her body drop and my cock slid deep inside her. I wasn't sure what

the future had in store for us, but The Bishop was gone, the fire was

hot, and so were we.

I was always amazed how quickly I could refract with her.

Chapter 12: It Was Him.

The

sun rose to reveal just how much snow had fallen during the night. We

spent the day in our robes, enjoying time by the fire while watching the

snow blanket the mountains. More than once, I started to fondle her,

but she hesitated.

"I just want him to return and finish this part."

"Look at that snow, he's not going to drive up in this weather. Can you track him? Track his phone, see if he's on the move?"

"No, I'm not allowed to track his phone," she said.

The heavy snow offered us a sense of peace, knowing that he wouldn't drive until the weather improved.

It

was our third day at the chalet, and we were still asleep when a

persistent knocking woke us. Mandy threw on her sweats and went

downstairs to see who was at the door.

I remained in the loft, listening to see if it was The Bishop.

It wasn't.

I looked outside to see two police four-wheel drive vehicles from the Summit County Sheriff’s department.

I snuck to the stairs to listen.

"There's

been an accident. Your husband's vehicle went off the road about four

miles from here. It tumbled down Blue Creek Canyon and;"

"My God, The Bishop! Is he okay?"

"The Bishop?"

"Rob Barton. My husband's church title is Bishop. Where is he? I'll get my coat."

"I'm sorry, Ma'am, I wish I were here with better news, but;"

"Oh, God no. Please no. Don't say that; "

I tensed up listening to the officer breaking horrible news to Mandy.

"Looks

like he went off the road about two days ago. The snow covered the

tracks. With yesterday's melt, one of the plow guys spotted damaged

trees, and when he went to investigate, he found the vehicle."

"There must be a mistake. He left here to go back to Denver for meetings."

The officers remained quiet.

"That has to be someone else's car," she continued, begging for it not to be true."

"No,

ma'am, we have his phone and his belongings. From the looks of the

accident and other evidence, we think he had been drinking."

"Well, he doesn't drink."

"Are you certain of that?"

"Perhaps on occasion."

The Sheriff looked at the bottle of bourbon on the counter.

Was he drinking when he left here?

"I didn't think he was drunk. I wouldn't have let him drive if he were."

"Who does that other car belong to?" the Sheriff asked. "Is it yours?"

"Umm, no. It's our lawyer's car."

I froze. The Bishop was dead. And she had just told the cops who owned the car in the driveway.

"Is he here? Can we speak to him?"

"No, my son's here. He borrowed the car to drive up from Denver to see us."

"Your son?"

"Gideon. He's upstairs. I think he's in the shower."

What the hell?

She had been telling the truth up until now.

Why did she just lie?

Perhaps she didn't want to explain why I was there. Maybe it was a knee-jerk reaction. But now, I was part of this event.

I

dressed quietly, put on my winter coat, and stepped out of the chalet

onto the hot tub deck. After that, I descended the steps and walked to

the front of the chalet to see the police cars.

A deputy sheriff was leaning against his car.

"What's going on here?" I asked, pretending to be unaware.

"The Sheriff is inside speaking with the homeowner. May I ask who you are?"

I hesitated.

Should I tell the truth? I mean, why not?

"Your name?" he asked again.

"Gideon Barton. This is my parents' place. What's wrong?"

I could see why this guy remained outside. He was uncomfortable delivering bad news.

"Umm, nothing. Why don't you go inside? The Sheriff can explain to you."

I quickly entered to see Mandy sitting at a table, crying. She looked up at me and said;

"Gideon; "

"Mom," I replied. "What's going on?"

The Sheriff turned to me.

"And you are?"

"Gideon Barton. Mom, what's going on?"

The sheriff proceeded to tell me what he had told Mandy. And I pretended to be hearing it for the first time.

This was Academy Award-level acting on my part.

I went to Mandy and held her tight, making sure it was how a son would console his mother, not how a lover would.

I was determined to show heartbreak when, in fact, I was elated. I don't wish death on anyone. Well, almost anyone.

The

Sheriff droned on and on about how sorry he was and that she needed to

come to the morgue with him to identify the body. She agreed and asked

if they could meet him there; she needed some time to prepare.

When the Sheriff left, Mandy and I stood quietly in the chalet. If ever there was a need for a shot of Whisky, it was now.

I took the bottle and poured a glass. She came over quickly, dumped it down the drain, and poured the bottle out.

"That's expensive stuff," I replied.

"My husband's dead because of this."

I looked at her long and hard.

"Was there something in the bottle, Mandy?"

"Yes,

sin and destruction. I never want to smell whisky again. All those

times after I was with you, he would come to me smelling of this stuff

and finish himself in me. It was horrible. Promise me you'll never drink

it."

"I'm not him."

"Promise me."

"Okay, I promise. I don't even like it that much."

She came to me when she felt I was sincere, and I embraced her tightly.

"I'm not sorry about what happened," I whispered.

I know it was too soon, but I needed to see if she felt any feelings for him.

"I

have wished for this day pretty much since the first time you and I

made love," she said, still holding me. "I'd never experienced anything

like that."

"You said I was Gideon. Why lie to a police officer?"

"Do you think I should have said you were my fuck buddy? You were my inseminator?"

"So, what if you did?"

"I have an image to uphold. I'm a good woman of the church. This thing, you and me, The Bishop and all of it. It can't get out."

"It never will, but remember I'm a lawyer. Talk to me before you talk to anyone."

"Is it bad? What did I do? Is it bad?"

"No, he drank too much and drove off a mountain road. Hell, that hill is scary when sober."

I looked at her with assurance in my eyes.

Go

in, identify him, and leave. If they want a statement, tell the truth:

he left here two nights ago to go to Denver. He said he would come back,

but with the snow, you weren't surprised when he didn't. There's no

cell phone service up here, so you were unaware he was missing.

"What if there is an autopsy?"

"That's good, it'll prove he was drunk."

"I don't want an autopsy."

"Why?"

"I

don't want to violate the sanctity of the body. It's my personal

feeling. Besides, we know how he died. They know how he died."

"Fine, you can refuse an autopsy. But if you do, say it's for religious reasons."

"Well, it is."

"Just say it that way then."

I drove her to town, but did not go into the morgue with her.

She was in and out of the morgue fast. She exited with tears, and I saw her thanking a police officer for his kindness.

I

wondered if I should intervene; the circumstances surrounding The

Bishop's death were unclear, and a misstatement could bring unintended

scrutiny.

But as she approached me, I could see a subtle smile. The tears were for show.

She got in the car and took a breath.

"It was him."

I breathed a sigh of relief, aware that The Bishop was out of my life and hers.

She held up his phone and handed it to me.

"Please destroy this."

I

knew why; it contained the videos of The Bishop essentially forcing

himself on her after each of our sessions; his attempt to provide

evidence of paternity.

"Please don't watch any of it."

"That's the last thing I would ever want to do."

The

challenging part was still ahead; she had to return to Provo and inform

her family. She would also need to notify the church. This was going to

be difficult, and she would have to face it alone.

We drove to my apartment in Denver and made plane reservations for the morning.

"I'll accompany you home," I offered.

"No, I'll do this part alone. But you should show up in a few days to console me. Friend of the family and all."

She was building the next stage of her life.

"And after I console you?"

"We build our relationship organically. You're there to help; we find each other in need. And it develops."

"This sounds like an alibi."

"Because

it is. Not because of The Bishop and how he met his end. But I'm a

devoted LDS mother of six. I've lost my husband. I need to grieve, and

that takes time."

She was cunningly calculating, and I was glad to be on her side of the equation.

I agreed to her terms, just as I had on the first day we had sex.

If a slow roll were needed for us to be a couple, I'd pass the time well, knowing we would be together.

Chapter 13: Is There Something You Want To Tell Me.

I sat on the couch, exhausted. Tomorrow, she'd return to Provo, and I'd follow in a week.

I

regretted my demand to have The Bishop watch us, but no matter how hard

I tried, I did not regret his death. Still, the circumstances could be

problematic for her or even me. My last words to him now seemed like a

prophetic rebuke. I was this strange ‘John the Baptist’ unorthodox

figure; Not approved of by the religious society, yet honest enough to

be used by God to expose religious hypocrisy.

She was in the other room, talking to family and breaking the news. I couldn't be a part of that.

I

saw her purse on the couch and intended to bring it to her. It was

open, and while I'm not one to snoop, I casually looked inside.

Inside,

she had an assortment of items: lip balm, her wallet, some lotions,

lipstick, a few makeup items, and a box with the Pfizer logo. I examined

it. It was the Xanax she occasionally took.

I

was impressed she could sit in the car with The Bishop for four hours

as he drove her to see me. I imagined the two Xanax’s she took before

she left helped her through the trip.

The

prescription was for 25 pills. It was a box that contained five sheets,

each with five tablets, the kind you punch out as you take them.

The sheet had three pills missing.

I saw her standing in the bedroom doorway, looking at me.

"You're looking in my purse?"

"What? No. I'm just;”

"It's okay if you do. You and I don't have any secrets."

She walked over to me and took the purse, then pulled out the Xanax.

"I need to throw these out."

"Why? Is there something you want to tell me?"

She held up a pee on the stick pregnancy test with a bright blue plus sign.

"Not good for our baby," she said with a smile.

You're?

She nodded her head yes.

"Is this the right time? I mean with all that's happened and everything ahead; "

"It's the best possible thing. It's what I wanted."

"What we wanted," I added in.

She needed to know I was onboard.

I embraced her tightly. Our last few days had gone from bliss to horror, and this news was a light at the end of a dark tunnel.

She had it all thought out, as if she had planned this for months.

She

would return home and mourn with her family. There would be sadness in

the community. The Bishop's accident would be attributed to icy roads,

not to drinking.

I

drove her to the airport, and she kissed me goodbye in that special way

you do when someone you love is leaving for an uncertain amount of

time.

It's

a kiss you remember because, when it ends, it feels like the beginning

of a story that will finally find closure when we kiss again.

I

followed her request and disposed of the Xanax. It was then that I

noticed there were only four sheets in the box, not the prescribed five.

She had kept one.

The upcoming weeks would be challenging, but she would need to cope without medication for the sake of the baby.

I called her when she landed in Salt Lake.

"I know about the Xanax," I told her.

"How? What did you;"

"You

can't take them now. You know that. I know you're depressed, I know you

need to sleep. But please don't take anything that could hurt our

child."

There was a long pause as she considered what I said.

"You're

right," she replied. "I was weak, and I thought I might need them when I

went to the temple. But I'm throwing them in the garbage right now.

Gone."

There was quiet on the line.

"You trust me, don't you?" she asked.

"You know I do. I'll be there next week. I'll help you through this."

"I love you," she said.

"You know I do, too. I'll help you through this, I promise."

"You already have," she replied, and we ended the conversation.

When

she returned home, the support she received was overwhelming. Her

children took the news in stride, which made me wonder if they lived in

fear of the man who claimed to be their father. Perhaps they had some

sixth sense about the fact he was an interloper.

I

arrived a week later and began the process of organizing The Bishop's

estate. To achieve this, I needed to spend countless hours with the

widow Barton.

Chapter 14: A Father Of Seven.

The Bishop was three months buried when she announced her pregnancy.

He was seven months dead when she and I went out together in public.

He

was nine months dead when our daughter, Eliza, was born, and it was

just over a year ago when Mandy and I were married. I adopted my two

biological children and my five biological siblings, making me a father

of seven.

We

sold two homes in Provo and bought a spacious house in Littleton where I

could commute to Denver while Mandy could raise our children.

As

her lawyer, I was finally putting the last of The Bishop's affairs to

rest. The only thing left to do was sell the Telluride chalet. Despite

it being the site of our youngest child's conception, Mandy had no

desire to return there, so I went alone to meet the realtor and sign the

papers.

When I arrived, she had a roaring fire and was setting up for a prospective buyer.

As

I signed several legal documents, I clumsily dropped my pen, which

rolled under the couch. I got down on the floor, reached underneath, and

found the pen; and something else: an empty sheet of Xanax pills. All

five tablets had been removed from the foil tabs.

The missing sheet of Xanax. The ones Mandy claimed to have taken back home and then thrown away.

There's

no way to prove these pills came from her prescription. For all I knew,

they could have been under that couch for 10 years.

I

looked up at the loft, remembering the last time I saw The Bishop as he

demanded I inseminate his wife from behind, and remembered how I wished

him dead in that moment.

I

tossed the empty sheet of Xanax tablets in the fire, watched it burn,

thanked the realtor, and drove home to be with my family and make love

to my devoted wife.

The End

 Based on a post by Wendy Trilby, in 5 parts, for Literotica.