Here's a collection of all my stories involving pregnancy, although in the case of Four Princesses, it is only a minor involvement.
When Carl meets his Aunt Carrie at his father's wedding, he little realises he will be quickly transformed into someone he really wants to be, and within a few months, married and experiencing the effects of pregnancy. But pregnancy and motherhood is not much fun, as Carl will find out.
If you're new to my stories, this may sound like fantasy; it's not. Set in Seacombe, a fictional town on the south coast of England, a company called Big Busts can supply garments to those who want to appear to be a different gender.
For those who are not familiar with my stories, a pamphlet is clickable at the appropriate point in the text to explain the range of Big Busts products available. When you get there, have a read before clicking the Back button to return to the story.
Enjoy
Carol's Capers
by Charlotte Dickles
CONTENTS
TRANSFORMATION
INTRODUCTIONS
ENGAGEMENT
MARRIAGE
PREGNANCY
CHILDBIRTH
MOTHERHOOD
TRANSFORMATION
"Don't you think," Caroline said, "that some women should never be allowed to wear pretty dresses?" She was speaking to the young man standing on his own at the wedding reception as they both watched the antics of the three bridesmaids doing a version of the Can-Can, kicking their legs as high as they could so that the world could see their stocking tops, if not, Caroline conjectured, the fact they weren't wearing panties. Fortunately, the world was spared that confirmation as their fat legs just wouldn't go that high.
The young man had been staring, transfixed, not ogling as all the other blokes around were, but clearly as disgusted as she was. "Yes," he agreed, without looking at her. "They're beautiful dresses but those three girls should never be allowed to wear anything as pretty as that."
"You obviously know them," she observed.
He grimaced at her and said, "Their names are Mercedes, Crystal and Tiffany, and they're the daughters of Roxy, the bride. As from today, they're my step-sisters."
"So you must be…"
"Carl," he said. "I'm Kevin's son, and you must be Mum's cousin, Aunty Carrie." He smiled at the middle-aged but not unattractive woman, wearing a very pretty floral dress and jacket.
"You're right," she said. "I'm afraid we've been out of touch for a long time, almost since you were born. I didn't know your mother, Sandra, had died until well after her funeral, which is why I came down today to try and make amends." She paused a little before adding, "But I thought your name was…"
"Don't say it," Carl interrupted. He gave a quick look around to make certain they weren't being overheard before adding, "The girls don't know and Dad admitted he was drunk when he registered my birth and got it wrong. We decided that it would be better if I was just known as Carl to everybody, all right?"
"Fair enough," she said. "I certainly understand the sensitivity with people like your father and now your new step-sisters."
She smiled to show empathy with him but he simply bit his lip with anguish.
"Is it really that bad?" she asked.
"I don't know what I'm going to do," he said. "Living at home. Dad and Roxy are swooning around like love-sick teenagers and we only have a two bedroom house. Those three slappers kicked me out of my bedroom so I'm havung to sleep downstairs on the couch. I'm supposed to be going off to university in the autumn, but I've just heard I've flunked my exams so I can't get admitted. That means I'm going to have to continue living here like Cinderella, packed in like sardines with my stepmother and three stepsisters, and it's going to be hell."
"Is there nowhere else you can stay?"
He shook his head, close to tears.
Again, Caroline paused before saying, "I'm not certain I would want to offer a room to a sulky teenage boy with a chip on his shoulder, but I do have a spare room in my house in Seacombe."
He looked at her, puzzled. "I don't understand what you're saying."
"What I'm saying," she said, "is that I know of several teenage boys and they're all trying desperately to appear grown up by behaving as total yobs. Knowing your father, I don't see why you should be any different – except that, having spoken with you, I think you are different. If you were prepared to let go of all your prejudices and be the person who's really underneath, then I think we could get on with each other. There's a reasonable college in Seacombe and you could retake your exams, or maybe go into other subjects entirely, since the current ones clearly haven't inspired you. And I also think you could help me, as well, if you were prepared to let go."
"Help you. In what way?"
Caroline smiled. "Time enough to discuss that when you've left all your baggage behind, and are on the way to Seacombe. So, what do you say?"
***
"I don't understand," Carl said, as Caroline drove southwards in her beat up Ford Escort. "Why did you want me to only pack my toothbrush?"
"It was just symbolic," Caroline said. "In actual fact, I have spare toothbrushes in the house, but I wanted you to leave the rest of your life behind. You're starting a new life now, with no baggage from your old."
After making his decision at the wedding reception, the two of them had gone up to Carl’s dad, Kevin, and explained what was happening. At the time, he was already three parts drunk, and clearly distracted by other things, barely taking in what they were saying. Then, Caroline had driven Carl back to his house where he'd ceremonially packed his toothbrush, written a brief note explaining he'd gone to live with Aunt Carrie, and they'd departed.
"But I haven't even got a change of underwear or another tee-shirt or jeans."
"I'm terrible about throwing away old clothes. I'm sure I'll have some jeans and tee-shirts which'll fit, and plenty of underwear."
"But…" He flushed a deep red.
"They're all perfectly respectable," she said. "Remember, no baggage."
His aunt clearly meant him to shut up and stop asking stupid questions, but it wasn't only the tone in her voice which kept him quiet; there was also a strange fluttering in his heart. "Yes, Aunt," he said.
***
They drove another twenty miles in amiable silence before Caroline said, "Have you heard of Caroll’s Capers?"
"Caroll’s Capers? What are you talking about?"
"Caroll’s Capers was a cartoon strip drawn by my Uncle Joseph," Caroline said. "It was very popular at one time and syndicated in newspapers worldwide, making him very rich.
"And I," she added, "was the inspiration for it."
He stared at her. "What happened?"
"I was orphaned when I was twelve, a result of a car crash which killed both my parents. I went to live with my Aunt Alice and Uncle Joseph. Uncle Joseph took one look at me and said I was just the inspiration he needed for his new comic strip. I never knew whether he said that just to distract me from the horrors of the previous two weeks or I really did inspire him. Whatever, he started using me as his model and the strip took off.
"Every day I’d come home from school and change out of my school uniform and put on a pretty dress – not too dissimilar to the dresses your stepsisters were wearing today – with frothy petticoats which made them flare out and made a wonderful rustling sound every time I moved. Then I had to pose in different positions whilst Uncle Joseph drew the cartoon. A few days later, I’d see myself in the cartoon in the newspapers.
"Caroll was an incredibly sassy girl. Uncle Joseph always made me wear a padded bra so my breasts poked out – I think that was what attracted many readers – and she always got the upper hand."
"So did life imitate art?" Carl asked. "Did you become a sassy girl?"
Caroline smiled. "I guess," she said. "I became a commercial negotiator, and people say I can be pretty persuasive in my job."
"And out of it," Carl said.
She grinned at him. "Unfortunately, my breasts never grew like Caroll’s did. By the time we were eighteen, hers were huge and mine were still a meagre 34A."
As she felt Carl’s eyes move down to her breasts, she smiled and added, "I’ve had enhancements since, so I can measure up to Caroll."
"Sorry," he said, "I didn’t mean to stare."
"That's rather the purpose of enhancements," she said with another grin. "By the time I was eighteen, the comic strip was reducing in popularity and I was about to depart to university, so it seemed a natural time for it to come to an end and Uncle Joseph went onto other things, but his later successes were founded upon Caroll’s Capers."
She took a deep breath before adding, "I think that’s probably why you were named Caroll, rather than Carl. Your mother was so impressed by Uncle Joseph's fame. After all, Caroll is a perfectly respectable name for a boy. Kevin hated it, of course, and they argued about it, but I think when he went to register your birth he relented and then immediately regretted it."
Carl – or Caroll to be accurate – blushed a bright red. "Dad always said he made a mistake although I felt Mum wanted to talk about it but was too frightened by Dad’s behaviour. He used to bully Mum mercilessly, you know."
She shrugged. "It doesn't surprise me. Let's hope that Roxy doesn't have to put up with what Sandra did. Did he bully you?"
"I guess. He thought I was a wimp because I was no good at sports, and got bullied at school."
"Well that life is all over now. You're going to be the person you want to be when you live at my house."
"You think I want to wear your clothes? Is that what this is all about?"
She glanced at him and smiled. "I think you're uncertain about things which you would never admit to, publicly. I first noticed you in the church, the way you were looking at your stepsisters in their dresses. I couldn't work it out at first and then, when you later watched them doing the Can-Can, it struck me you were envious of them."
Caroll went a deep red and blurted out, "Why should I be? Just because my name's really Caroll? It doesn't make me gay."
She patted his arm. "No, it's not because of your name. Lots of people thought those bridesmaids' dresses were beautiful and would love to wear them, including, I suspect, quite a few males. The point is that when you're with me, it's all right to say that."
When he remained silent, she added, "Uncle Joseph still has that collection of dresses I wore when I was modelling for Caroll's Capers. I reckon the later ones would fit you, and that favour I was going to ask you. I want you to wear some of those dresses for Uncle Joseph."
"What? Is he some kind of kink?"
"He's a lovely old man, but getting very frail and losing the will to live. I think you look very similar to me at that age, and seeing you in one of Caroll's dresses might bring him back to life. Would you do that for me?"
"I'll just look stupid."
"If you do then we certainly won't show him, but I don't think you will. In any case, wouldn't it be worth it just to try on one of those wonderful dresses, with the petticoats which make the rustling sound every time you move?"
He shrugged. "S'pose."
***
They stopped for a meal on the way to Caroline's home in Seacombe so were quite late when they finally arrived at a pair of arched wooden doors in a high, white-painted wall.
"It was once a stable block for the house where Uncle Joseph lives," she explained as she pushed a remote and the doors started to automatically open. "It's quite separate from the main house so we can live entirely different lives, but on the other hand, it's handy to pop in regularly and see him."
She drove the car into what had once been a coach house, and they got out and walked over to the stable block, where Caroline lived
"It'll take me a few minutes to make the spare bedroom presentable so I suggest you wash away all remnants of the old you. But first, I want to put some cream on your skin. Hang on."
She popped into her bedroom for a few seconds then emerged carrying a pair of black bikini bottoms. "Go into the bathroom, strip off and then pull these one.
"It's OK," she said as Caroll stared at them with suspicion. "They won't make your willy fall off. Slip them on and then give me a shout to say you're decent."
He shrugged and then disappeared into the bathroom. A minute later he timidly called, "I'm ready."
She went in to see he had put on the bikini bottom and had wrapped a towel around his waist. She smiled. "You have a lovely slim body, and it's not very hairy, but I want to spray on some hair-removal cream." She showed him the spray can. "It may tingle a bit but it's not painful. I use it frequently."
He shrugged compliance and she made him step into the bath and remove his towel, before spraying him from head to foot.
"I know you're pensive about all this," Caroline said. "It's perfectly understandable. I expect your dad talks a lot about how men must be brave, but I bet he wouldn't be brave enough to do what you're doing now."
Caroll grinned. "He'd think it was sissy. Ouch! It tingles a bit more than you said."
"But women put up with it," she said with a smirk. "And I reckon you're as brave as a woman, which makes you much braver than your dad."
He couldn't help but smile back. "Guess."
After she'd rubbed off and showered the mix of cream and hair, she ran a bath for him, filling it with lots of nice, smelly bubbles. "Have a long bath," she said. "I'll sort out some pyjamas and a dressing-gown for you, and get your room ready. Then I'll make some cocoa and you can come down and drink it."
***
"This is really crazy," he said, twenty minutes later as he came into the kitchen wearing a white dressing gown over white pyjamas with a happy face motif.
She looked him over and said, "Do you know, you have a nicer smile on your face than I've seen on you all day. You look comfortable in those clothes."
"Maybe. It's just… strange."
"It's bound to be when you've been brought up to accept one thing, when inside, you're different from what your father wants you to be. But in my book, that's an advantage, not something to feel bad about."
He gave another lovely smile. "I guess."
***
"I brought you a cup of tea."
Caroline jerked awake, trying to grasp who might be in her room. Having lived on her own for so long, it took some adjustment to get used to someone else being there.
"Thanks," she said. "I'm not used to such luxuries."
She sat up in bed, well aware that her boobs were protruding more than they should from her nightdress, but what the heck? Carl was now Caroll and was going to have to get used to such things. And that thought brought a smile to her lips. "I've got a present for you," she said. "It's in that box on the dressing-table." She gesticulated towards the thick cardboard box. "But don't open it yet. I need to explain something first. Bring it over here and come and sit on the bed."
Caroline adjusted her attire and took a sip of her tea before continuing. "I told you that Caroll's boobs far outgrew mine when I was a teenager. I became incredibly jealous of her, actually, so as soon as I could afford it, I had a boob job done."
"Right," Caroll gulped, trying not to stare at Caroline's boobs.
"You probably heard a few years ago there was a health problem identified with leaking silicone implants, and I was one of those affected. I had to have them removed, and rather than having the implants replaced, I turned to a local firm here in Seacombe called Big Busts. In the box is my spare Bustlet, which I think will fit you fine. Open it and have a look."
Tentatively, not knowing what to expect, Caroll pulled out the tab securing the lid and opened it. Facing him was the upper torso of a woman with a pair of large boobs, wobbling like jellies on a plate. "My God!" he said.
"They're very realistic," Caroline said. "It fits like a crop top and there's adhesive in those two plastic tubs to prevent perspiration. We'll use the green adhesive to start with which lasts only a few hours, so we'll have to renew it before we go out this afternoon."
"You're expecting me to go out of the house wearing these!" Caroll gasped. "But they're huge. I can't…"
"Lots of girls of your age have D cup breasts," Caroline said. "They're almost the norm now.
"And of course," she added, "it will mean you properly fit into the Caroll's Capers dresses I want you to wear later on. Come on, let's try them on you."
***
"Oh my God!" Caroll repeated for at least the fourth time, as she stared down at her breasts. "They are fantastic."
"After you've worn them for twenty-four hours," Caroline said, "you'll be fed up of both the jerks who stare at them just as you're doing now, and the inconvenience and weight hanging from your chest. Believe me, you'll wonder what all the fuss is about such an awkward pair of assets, and you'll certainly understand why I reverted to a reasonable C-cup after a few months, leaving you my Ds. Now, let's get you dressed. Fortunately, I still have D-cup bras that will fit you, and then we'll get you into tee-shirt and jeans."
Ten minutes later, Caroll stared into the mirror. "My hair will need some styling, I guess," she said. "And I'm sure you'll tell me all about makeup, but I guess I pass quite well. Thanks Aunt. I feel wonderful."
"We can certainly do something about your hair and makeup," Caroline said, "but I'm sorry, to me you will still look like a boy with boobs. You're the wrong shape down below."
"But I've tucked it all away," Caroll protested. "You can't see anything of a bulge."
"That's the problem," Caroline said. "Girls are supposed to bulge around the hips and buttocks. You're straight from the waist down. Here, look at this Big Busts pamphlet (click here to view pamphlet). I think you need a Hiplet to go with your Bustlet. We'll go into Big Busts and get you sorted out. I'll give them a ring; see if we can go in there this morning."
***
"Aunt Carrie. Everyone's staring at me."
"Actually, it's all the men who are staring at you. I think Big Busts have really done a superb transformation. Those voice-changer pills really make so much difference, as does giving you hair extensions and that lovely bob. And Caroll…" She turned to put a hand on Caroll's arm, "I'm really delighted you went in for the red, semi-permanent gel for your Bustlet and Hiplet, rather than the green gel. It will not only be so much more convenient and comfortable, but you'll feel everything is part of your own body, rather than simply garments. Of course, the Sensotouch helps tremendously."
"I think once you convinced me I could look like a girl rather than a boy," Caroll said, "it became common sense to get properly into it. So in for a penny, in for a pound."
"That's brilliant, Caroll, and can I say, you seem so happy in yourself. Now let's go into a café and have some lunch, then we can pop around to see Uncle Joseph afterwards. See if we can persuade him to let you try on some of those pretty dresses. Then you really will be a knock out."
"Yes Aunt."
INTRODUCTIONS
After parking in Caroline's coach house, they walked along a footpath through a wooded area until they reached the large mansion in which her uncle lived. Caroline had a key to the side door and she let them in. "Hi Uncle, hi Maggie," she called out. "I've brought my niece around to meet you."
"We're in the lounge," a female voice called out. "Come on in."
Caroll followed Caroline into the room where Strictly Come Dancing was blaring out on the TV.
"This is my niece, Caroll," Caroline introduced her. "She's staying with me for a while."
"Hello Caroll," the older woman said. "I'm Maggie. I'm the Housekeeper come Carer in the house. It's nice to meet you." She gave a wave of her hand rather than offering a handshake and Caroll waved back."
"Maggie was the live-in housekeeper when I first came to live here," Caroline said. "Then she moved out to get married and bring up three daughters, and, so far, two grandchildren. When Uncle's condition worsened and Tom, her husband died, she moved back in to be Uncle's Carer."
Caroline's attention moved to her Uncle and the TV. "Uncle. You were watching that same episode of Strictly before I went off to the wedding."
For the first time, Uncle Joseph's attention turned away from the TV screen. "You're losing your marbles, young Carrie. This isn't a recording; it's live so I couldn't have been watching it last week. Hello, love," he added to Caroll, before turning back to the TV.
"Hello, Great Uncle Joseph," Caroll said, aware that not only had she lost his attention, but that Strictly was always broadcast live on Saturday evening, rather than Sunday afternoon and that the presenter on the screen, Bruce Forsyth, was now dead.
"Uncle," Caroline said, "have you noticed how similar Caroll looks to me at her age? You wouldn't mind, would you, if she tried on some of the Caroll's Capers' costumes."
He remained staring intently at the TV, and since he hadn't objected, Caroline took that as permission to proceed. "Come on," she said to Caroll. "Let's go upstairs to the attic."
"I'll come, as well," Maggie said, "and help you sort them out. I was struck straightaway how similar Caroll was to you as a girl; just as plain a face, although a bit shapelier than you were at that age."
"Thanks for pointing out I was flat-chested," Caroline amiably said. "Caroll is so lucky to have such a wonderful shape. But I'm hoping that seeing her in one of my old costumes might bring a sparkle back into Uncle Joseph. What do you think?"
Maggie shrugged as she followed Caroline and Caroll up the stairs. "Anything is worth a try, but I haven't seen a sparkle from Joseph in months. I think it's downhill all the way from here. I'm afraid."
"So that's what's behind everything," Caroll said to Caroline. "You inviting me down here to stay with you and… everything else. It's all because you're hoping I can rekindle some spirit into your Uncle."
Caroline stopped climbing the stairs and turned to Caroll. "Caroll, I wouldn't have done it if I hadn't thought this would be a wonderful experience and opportunity for you, as well. But I owe so much to Uncle Joseph. You are justified in thinking I manipulated things to try to help him, but I hope you'll forgive me." She stood up straight and added, "And I suspect that when you're wearing a wonderful dress in a few minutes' time, you'll thank me for the opportunity."
"Aunt," Caroll said, "I'm already so grateful for the last twenty-four hours. Anything I can do to help someone you love, I'll do it, OK?"
Caroline wrapped her arms around her niece and kissed her on the head. "Thanks darling. Everything has turned out tremendously so far. Let's keep our fingers crossed that our good fortune continues."
"And so say all of us," Maggie added, not really certain what the two had been talking about but recognising a good result.
***
When Caroline had led her up to the side of the mansion, Caroll hadn't realised just how big it was. Now as they climbed up the main staircase to the first floor, and then the narrow servants' staircase to the second floor, and then the tiny staircase to the attics above, she realised it was huge and, from appearances, only the rooms on the ground floor were currently in use; all the other floors having an appearance of desolation.
"We all live on the ground floor, now," Maggie explained. "Joseph can't manage the stairs very well and it suits us all to be nearby, in case I'm needed."
When they entered the attic, Maggie made her way over to the corner, where the eaves hung low, and a large, dusty trunk was wedged in amongst all kinds of other junk. "Let's pull this out," she said, "and then we can get it open."
They all heaved it towards the centre of the room, and then Caroline undid the catches on the trunk and threw the lid open. They all gasped a little, at the array of bright, pretty colours which lay before them.
"Oh, how beautiful," Caroll said, reaching forward to touch the topmost dress and lift it out. "Will this really fit me?"
"That one won't," Caroline said. "I think I wore that when I was twelve, but if we rummage down to the bottom, we should find the larger sizes."
Actually, right at the bottom was a collection of frilly petticoats and a couple of other garments, wrapped around with bundles of cords.
"I think we'll probably need one of those," Maggie said, pulling out one of them and starting to unravel the cords from around it.
"What is it?" Caroll asked.
"I'd forgotten all about those," Caroline said. "The pleasure of having a narrow-enough waist to wear one of these lovely dresses goes with just a little pain from the corset you have to wear to fit into it." Seeing the look on Caroll's face, she added, "I remember, I got quite rebellious when I was your age about wearing a corset, but I'm sure you will simply be magicked away by the wonderful figure it gives you."
Actually, she had misinterpreted Caroll's feelings, whose heart had started beating like crazy at the very idea of wearing a corset. "You made me come here with an open mind," Caroll said, careful not to reveal her true feelings, "so I'm willing to give it a go, especially if it's the only way I can get into one of these dresses."
"Attagirl," Caroline said.
They took a collection of attire downstairs to the bedroom Caroline had used when she had lived here, before departing for university. There were still posters of 1980s' pop stars decorating the walls, and Caroline threw open the windows to allow the warm spring afternoon air to enter, and freshen up the rather musty smell.
"Right," Maggie said. "Strip off then."
Caroll did, realising how fortunate it was she was wearing a Hiplet, so her boy bits were well and truly hidden. She left on her bra and panties, until Maggie said, "You won't be needing those, and from your shape, nor will you be needing the chicken fillets we used to slip down the front of Caroline's slip. Now, let's start by slipping this suspender belt around your waist, then you can put on your stockings and knickers and get into your shoes."
Caroll felt the discomfort in her groin, frequently experienced over the last day, which came every time she was asked to perform feminine actions, but she managed to slip on the stockings without laddering them. Then Maggie held out a pair of the frilliest panties Caroll had ever seen and told her to put them on.
Finally, she sat back on the bed and put on the shoes. Maggie told her the heels were only two inches but they appeared enormous to Caroll.
Maggie then took the frilly petticoat and pulled it over her head, getting Caroll to stand up so she could pull it down her body.
"Stop tottering about like that," Maggie ordered. "Surely you’re used to low heels like that?"
"I don’t think she is," Caroline said. "So many girls today only ever wear trainers."
Maggie gave a kind of a "Tsh," noise, adding, "We’ll have you walk up and down a bit so you can get used to them. It won’t take long."
As Maggie pulled the petticoat down over her tummy, it was quite a tight fit.
"No need to worry about that," Maggie cheerfully said. "That'll be gone in a flash as soon as I get heaving with the corset."
"That's what I'm worried about," Caroll said.
"Huh," Maggie said, "the discomfort is always hyped up, to make it seem worse that it was. That's right, isn't it Carrie?" She was already wrapping the corset around Caroll's waist and fastening the busk at the front. She gave it a little tug, here and there, to get it seated properly, and the action squashed Caroll's breasts upwards.
"No comment," Caroline said, "except to add that I know Caroll has guts and she'll be up for whatever tightening you have to do to wear that dress."
"I may have guts," Caroll said, "but I'd prefer to keep them inside of me, rather than being squeezed so hard I explode like a balloon. I think that's probably tight enough, isn't it Maggie?"
"Tight enough," she scoffed. "I haven't started yet. Now. Let's get going." She gave a long pull on the corset cords, followed by another and another. "And don't even bother to complain, as Caroline always used to," she added, "otherwise I'll pull it tighter still."
"You wouldn't, would you?" Caroll gasped, finding it difficult to speak normally.
"You'd better believe it," Caroline said. "The best thing is just to let her get on with it and then admire the results.
"Assuming you're still alive," she quietly added.
Actually, the greatest discomfort Caroll was experiencing was in her groin, which was being affected by the way her breasts were being pushed up her chest with every pull of the corset cords. They had looked large when constrained by one of Caroline's D-cup bras, but now they looked twice as big.
"Right," Maggie said, temporarily tying off the cords. "Let's see how the dress fits you now." She picked up that wonderful garment and held it over Caroll's head and let it drop down over her, smoothing it down over the flared petticoat. Then she walked around the rear and said, "I'm afraid there's still another inch to go before we can do up the buttons, but it is going to look ravishing on you. Reach as far up one of the bedposts as you can and grasp it, then let your body hang down. That'll make it easier to draw in. It won't take long now."
Five minutes later, Caroll was examining herself in the mirror. OK, the corset was so tight, her breasts were heaving up and down with every tiny breath she could take, but as Maggie had said, she looked ravishing in it and she felt she might explode with excitement.
"OK," Caroline said. "Try walking up and down the landing a few times to get the feel of the heels. Then let's go downstairs and see if we can awake the old fart from his stupor."
The heels were fine, actually, but what was so disconcerting was the way her boobs quivered and wobbled with every movement.
***
"Hi Joseph," Caroline said. "How do you think Caroll fits into Caroll's dress?"
"What?" reluctantly Joseph lifted his eyes from the TV screen, and then over to where Caroline was pointing. "My God!" He leapt to his feet. "Carrie? No of course not, you're standing here. Then who is this?"
"This is my niece, Caroll," Caroline explained. "Kevin and Sandra's child whom I met at the wedding, yesterday. As soon as I saw her, I recognised how similar she was to me at that age. Things weren't going particularly well with her father and his new family, so I persuaded her to come and live with me for a while."
"You look fabulous," Joseph said, then as an extra loud bust of cheering came from the TV, he turned around and said, "Maggie, I really don't know why you need the TV on all the time. Turn it off so we can talk properly to our visitor."
Maggie did so without even raising an eyebrow and the room fell quiet.
"Caroll," Joseph said. "Come over here and tell me all about yourself… No, better still…" His eye drifted out of the window to the sunshine outside. "Let's go for a walk in the garden and we can talk there without these busybodies listening in."
Whilst Caroll looked embarrassed and started to stutter that she wasn't sure, Caroline gave Maggie a look which said, "I told you so."
***
"Come on," Joseph said to Caroll, "let's go."
Seeing Caroline and Maggie smirking at each other, she realised she had no alternative, and sheepishly followed Joseph through the French window into the garden. There was a path leading from the French window across a short section of grass towards a wooded knoll about twenty yards away.
"You can take my arm," Joseph said. "Make certain I don't stumble…" As Caroll's heels trod the uneven path she tottered, and he added with a grin, "Or I can do the same for you."
"Yes, Great Uncle."
"Don't Great Uncle me," he said. "Not only does it make me feel positively ancient, but it makes it seem as though you're just trolling me around like an ancient relative, whereas of course, we're not related except by marriage through my deceased wife Alice. That means we can simply be friends walking through the woods on a sunny afternoon. That all right with you?"
She smiled at him, suddenly aware of his lust for her, even at his age. "Yes Joseph."
"Call me Seph," he said. "That's what my wife, Alice, used to call me, so I tend to reserve it for special friends, and I reckon you're one of those."
Caroll hugged his arm closely, well aware she was pushing it into the side of her breast. "I reckon you're an old rascal, Seph," she said.
The path had entered the trees and started to climb upwards. "Are you OK on this slope, Seph?" she asked.
"Yes," he said. "I had these pathways constructed when my wife got ill and was wheelchair bound. When we first moved into this house, there was simply a steep path to the top, but I wanted something that was wheelchair friendly, so I created this little maze of paths, with bridges and tunnels." They had come to a crossroads in the path. "There's only one way to the top," he continued. "You have to guess which is the correct way."
"To the right," Caroll said, since that path led slightly uphill before turning out of sight. Then a sudden hunch made her change her mind. "No. Let’s go to the left."
"Fair enough, let's walk and see where we come out."
As they walked, Joseph told Caroll about his life with Alice; how they had tried for years to have children and then Alice had miscarried, leaving her infertile. Shortly afterwards, Alice's sister and her husband were killed and they adopted Caroline.
"She was the most wonderful thing that ever came into my life," he said. "Well, until I met you," he added with another of his grins.
"Get off with you," she smirked, giving his arm another hug and doing a twirl with her skirts. Actually, she really enjoyed doing that. It was a wonderful feeling, having the air moving between her legs all the way up to her frilly-panties. Even they were quite a loose fit, so the air moved around inside them in a very erotic way.
"So tell me about your life," Joseph said; and she did with almost complete honesty, only leaving out her gender.
"So you're planning to go to college here in Seacombe," Joseph said. "And what? Retake the subjects you failed this year, or switch onto something new?"
"I'm not certain," Caroll said. "Aunt Carrie suggested changing subjects, but to be fair, I really don't know what I want to do."
"Is there any career that attracts you?" Joseph asked.
"I wanted to train as a chef, but Dad said that cooking wasn't a proper career for a b… Well, I mean, it has long, unsociable hours and doesn't pay very well unless you get to be very famous. Being realistic, I'm unlikely to do that."
"You enjoy cooking?"
"Yes, I do. Since Mum died, I've taken over the cooking for the household. Well, until now, and Dad's new wife has thrown me out of the kitchen, saying it's her domain now."
"You'd make someone a wonderful wife," Joseph said.
"Don't be silly," she replied, blushing like crazy. "Oh, we've come back to the same crossroads, but from a different direction."
"Are you certain it's the same junction, or simply another which looks identical?"
She stared around; it was very difficult to be certain. They were completely surrounded by tall trees, all of which looked almost identical. "If this was the same junction and we set off down that path," she pointed, "then we must have initially arrived at the junction on that adjacent path."
"Except that we have been over a couple of bridges as we've walked so we could have crossed over other tracks."
She grinned. "You are an old rascal, Seph. You're teasing me. OK, which way do you think we should go?"
He shrugged. "Maybe we should go to the left."
So they set off walking again, slightly downhill at first and then the path turned and started uphill. "Carrie says your career really took off with Caroll's Capers. What happened when you moved onto other things?"
***
"I can't believe," Maggie said to Caroline as they watched Joseph and Caroll walk towards the trees, "that a modern-day eighteen-year-old girl has never walked with a two-inch heel before."
Caroline shrugged. "It happens, I guess."
"That's when I remembered," Maggie said, "that when Kevin and Sandra named their child Caroll, I thought it was an unusual name for a boy. And I also know that the company you get your breast enhancements from in Seacombe do things for boys as well as girls."
"Ah," Caroline said.
"Ah, indeed."
"As soon as I saw Caroll," Caroline said, "I was struck by several things: one was his resemblance to me, but also, that he was very unhappy within himself. And the way he was looking at the three bridesmaids, who were complete slappers, made me realise he was captivated by their dresses, rather than their bodies. So I took a chance on everything and it all seems to have worked out all right. You're not going to spill the beans, are you?"
Maggie touched Caroll's hand. "Carrie, the way Joseph has suddenly come alive again, they can have a love affair and elope to Gretna Green as far as I care. But let's make certain no one gets too disappointed, eh?"
***
"Oh, that's magnificent!" Caroll said, staring around from the peak of the knoll. A short inclined tunnel had suddenly brought them onto the grassy circle, with a pagoda in the centre where they could sit companionably side-by-side and look around. Somehow, they were holding hands and it felt… well, quite nice.
"We can see out through the trees, but this feels a very private spot, here, as though we can't be seen."
Joseph nodded. "If you go to the top of the house you can just see this spot through the trees, and your brightly-coloured dress would stand out, but we can't be seen from the main rooms.
"Why," he saucily added, "did you want to have frolics with me?"
Caroll realised she should have been deeply shocked at the suggestion. Firstly, a cross-dressed male receiving a sexual proposition from another male was shocking enough, but even if she had been a teenage girl, to receive such a suggestion from someone sixty years her senior should have been disgusting. Instead, she couldn't prevent herself from laughing at his impudence. "I think you're a wicked old man," she said. Then on some stupid impulse, she leant forward and kissed him on the cheek.
Surprised, Joseph raised his hand to where her lips had grazed his cheek and slowly rubbed the spot, wondering if such things could give old men a heart attack. "You think I'm wicked," he said, "but I think, it takes one to know one." And his arm reached behind her head to bring her lips on to his.
***
"Better set the satnav for Gretna Green," Maggie wryly observed as they watched the couple from the window in the old servants' quarters.
"Hmm," Caroline said, "you put the kettle on and I’ll go outside and shout up that tea’s ready."
***
"It worked, didn’t it?" Caroll excitedly said to Caroline as they walked back to the stables. "It brought Seph alive again. That’s why you manipulated me into becoming a girl and it’s done exactly what you wanted."
"Yes it has," Caroline agreed, "although I only considered the idea because I thought it would be good for you as well as him. And looking at you, I was right about that, too. You look so comfortable in yourself as a girl."
"I feel it, Aunt. I just feel so good simply dressed in jeans and tee-shirt with my figure making everything seem right, and when I put on that wonderful dress, I thought I was going to burst."
Caroline grinned. "I could see."
Caroll paused a little, as though wondering whether to say something, and then said, "I kissed him. Just a little peck on the cheek. I mean, I’m not gay. I’ve never fancied boys at all, and I am attracted to girls, but it seemed a natural thing to do. Because I’m a girl not a boy, and it seemed OK to give him a little kiss on his cheek to say thank you for his kindness to me."
The silence lasted a few seconds before Caroll added, "Maybe it was stupid of me, because he took my head in his hands and gave me a proper kiss back."
"Were you shocked?"
"More surprised than shocked. I’d have expected a teenage boy to push his luck but not an elderly man. It... It so excited me, to know that I attracted him, that he wanted my body. My heart was pounding. I wanted to melt into his arms and let him have his way."
"And did you?"
"I pushed him away after a few seconds and told him he was a wicked old man. He smiled at me and said that being with such a beautiful woman made him like that."
"I think you were very wise."
"Do you? For some reason, mothers don’t tell their boys what to do under such circumstances."
"Let me try to speak as a wise aunt to her niece, rather than a mother to her daughter," Caroline said. "Firstly, the object of the exercise was to bring Uncle to life; not to kill him with a heart attack an hour after meeting him. That has to be a real consideration with men of that age if things get too physical.
"Secondly, men of all ages tend to feel anti-climax after sex. They have sowed their seed, their body is saying, bugger off now and sow it somewhere else. So there should be something more than physical desire between two people before they have sex, otherwise, it won't last for longer than it takes to ejaculate inside you. Believe me, I've had plenty of experiences like that. Maybe, if I'd have listened to the advice my mother gave me, I'd be in a relationship now. But I didn't and I'm not."
"Are you saying," Caroll asked, "that you want me to get into a longer term relationship with your uncle?"
"Sorry, I didn't mean to infer that, but I thought you two could be friends whilst you're living with me."
"I know this is crazy," Caroll said, "but I really enjoyed being with him today – not just as a person visiting an elderly relative – but as someone who I enjoyed being with. As I said, he excited me."
"Even more reason why you don't let things go too far. A little kiss and a cuddle are fine, but don't let it go further. Do you understand?"
"Aunt, when you say, 'Don't let it go further,' I'm not certain how much further I could go anyway with this Hiplet thing. I mean, I know it's got a… thing, but surely I couldn't actually have… well, have sex with a man, could I?"
"Apparently it gives you all the capabilities, and it's supposed to be realistic for both partners, although I'm not certain how much of that is marketing hype and how much reality. But remember, just because you can, it doesn't mean you have to, particularly if you want to continue to enjoy time with Uncle Joseph."
"Do you know, he thinks I should take up Art?" Caroll said. "He's offered to teach me the basics of drawing. I thought I might give it a go."
"I'm sure he'll be a wonderful teacher," Caroline said, "and he'll want to properly thank you for being such a wonderful student. So take care."
***
"Will you be all right on your own, tomorrow," Caroline asked later that evening. "I have to go to work, but I'm hoping to get a bit of time off later in the week, and I can show you around Seacombe."
"Actually," Caroll said, "Seph asked me round for elevenses tomorrow, and he said stay and have some lunch. He said he'd get me started with drawing."
"That's brilliant, Caroll," Caroline said.
Caroll hesitated a little before saying, "I was wondering if you had a dress, say, that I could wear or something a bit prettier than jeans and tee-shirt. You do want me to keep him perky, after all."
Caroline smiled. "OK, let's go upstairs and you can choose something, but just remember that auntly advice I gave you, OK?"
"Yes, Aunt, and thanks."
***
Before setting out for the main house, Caroll knew there was one thing she must do. She'd had no contact from her father since she left two days before and she knew she had to clear the air. She called his mobile.
"Hello Dad, it's me."
"Karl? You sound funny."
"It must be a cold coming on, Dad," she said.
"So, you're all right with Aunt Carrie?"
"Yes, Dad."
"That's great. I must say, it's provided a bit more space around the house. I really wasn't certain how we were going to cope until you went off to university. By the way, you left all your stuff here."
"Aunt Carrie suggested I should have a clean sweep, just bring my toothbrush."
"But what are you wearing? The clothes you left home in?"
Caroll took a deep breath. She could lie, or… "Aunt Carrie's lent me some of her clothes. Jeans and tee-shirts and things."
"But what about… underpants?"
"She's lent me some of her panties. They're fine."
"What!" His voice was suddenly hushed as though frightened he might be overheard. "You're wearing…" another pause as he considered his words "…things like that. You're some kind of weirdo. OK, you're eighteen now, which means you're responsible for yourself. But for God's sake, don't ever appear here dressed like that, otherwise Roxy will wonder what kind of family she's married in to. So, good luck with it all, kid. Bye."
And he had rung off.
***
Not wanting to use Caroline’s key to the side door, Caroll went around to the front door and pushed on the large brass bell push. It was rather disappointing to hear a naff ding-dong from inside.
The front door opened immediately and a woman aged in her early twenties in a gingham overall stood before her, a pregnancy magazine, which she’d clearly just been reading, in one hand.
"Hello," she amiably said. "You must be Caroll. I’m Sharon, Maggie’s youngest daughter, and I do the cleaning here. Mum told me you’d be coming round. I hear you woke up the old man, a bit, yesterday. You’re very shapely; it’s easy to see why."
Caroll smiled at her. "Thank you, but I’m nothing really special." She nodded at the magazine. "Are you expecting?"
Sharon’s face lost its smile and said, "No. I’ve just had my period again. I’ve been trying for a baby for so long, I think I’ll die if I don’t have one soon."
"Oh I’m so sorry," Caroll said. "I hope you’ll be lucky soon."
"Fat chance of that," Sharon said. "Kevin, my partner has left me after I accused him of firing blanks. Best thing really; hopefully I’ll get someone who’s more fertile."
"Hi Caroll," Maggie’s voice came from the hallway beyond Sharon. "I thought I heard the doorbell go. Joseph’s waiting to see you. Don’t let Sharon bore you with her ongoing saga to motherhood. Come on through."
As she led the way, Carroll asked, "Do your two other daughters live locally?"
"Jenny does," Maggie said. "She’s my eldest and she’s married to Keith, who’s a gas-fitter and they have two children. Rachel is a marketing manager in London. She’s living with her partner, Melanie, and apparently they’re waiting until the science will allow them to have children without male input." She pulled a face. "So my hopes are on Sharon eventually finding someone. The problem is she’s so obsessed with having children, it puts blokes off, especially on a first date."
Carroll was still smiling as Maggie waved her hand to indicate she should go through to a study, where Joseph’s face immediately brightened as soon as he saw Caroll.
"Caroll, it's wonderful to see you."
"Hello, Seph." She gave him a kiss on his cheek, considering it safe in front of Maggie who looked as though she was playing chaperone.
"I'll get the tea," Maggie said. Actually, playing chaperone was exactly the part she'd agreed with Caroline on the phone last night.
"Come through into my studio," Joseph said, "and we'll make a start.
"Then maybe this afternoon," he added, "we’ll go down into Seacombe and I’ll show you the delights."
"That sounds brilliant, Seph," Caroll said
ENGAGEMENT
"Carrie," Caroll said to her as soon as she got home from work. "Something significant happened today."
Caroline stared at Caroll’s face, which looked as bleak as when she had first seen Carl at the wedding. "What is it? What’s happened?"
"Seph gave me a drawing lesson this morning and it was really brilliant. He made it seem so easy. In the space of a few hours, he pretty well convinced me to take it up at college and make a career of it."
"OK," Caroline said, "but is that what’s worrying you?"
"Oh, no. Taking up drawing seemed to make so much sense. But after lunch, we went into Seacombe and Seph and Maggie showed me around the town. We seemed to be having so much fun. Then, whilst Maggie went to get the car to take us home, Seph and I walked around the rear of the theatre at the end of the pier, where it’s very secluded and there’s a little shelter there with a bench inside. That’s when it happened."
"What happened?" Caroline croaked.
"Seph went down on one knee and proposed to me."
"You’re joking!" Then Caroline said, "What did you say?"
"I said I thought I was too young and we should be just good friends for a while."
"That sounds a pretty good answer," Caroline said.
"Well, Seph said he didn’t have a lot of time left and wanted to marry me quickly so we could have babies."
"Holy cow!" Caroline said. "How did you respond to that?"
"I don’t know how I managed to think of anything to say, but it was something like I wasn’t having regular periods so I didn’t think I could conceive."
"What did he say to that?"
"He said you must take me to a specialist doctor who would sort out my problems. Then we could be married and have lots of babies. I sort of made a fuss then and said we should go home."
"That was quick thinking, Caroll," Caroline said. "Let me have a think about everything. Is that a meal I can smell in the oven?"
"It’s Beef Bourgeon," Caroll said. "I found it quite calming to cook whilst my mind was in such turmoil."
***
"There is a reason," Caroline said, later that evening, "why Uncle Joseph would want to quickly make his new wife pregnant."
They’d had an excellent meal of Beef Bourgeon followed by a wonderfully light meringue, all washed down by a bottle of Merlot. Throughout the meal they had carefully avoided talk of the marriage proposal, and had both chatted noisily about their respective days. Now the conversation returned, as they both knew it must, to the dominant issue.
"Much to the frustration of Uncle's father, Edgar, it was several years after he married Alice before she became pregnant. Shortly after the pregnancy was announced, Edgar contracted bowel cancer. He immediately made a new will, and hoping to avoid death duties, he left the whole estate in trust to Uncle’s first born, giving Uncle and his spouse the right to live here for life. But shortly after Edgar’s death, Alice miscarried and they never had another child. Many years ago, he fought to get me the right to inherit the estate as adopted daughter, but failed in the courts. So, when Uncle dies, the whole estate will pass to the Crown, who no doubt will auction it to the highest bidder."
"So you and Maggie will be homeless when that happens," Caroll said.
"We’ve both saved up for that possibility," Caroline said, "but property prices always seem to exceed savings, so the basic answer to your question is yes, we’ll be homeless."
"Whereas if Seph remarried and his wife became pregnant, then their child would inherit the estate, and the mother would have the right to live here."
"But Maggie and I would still have no rights unless the new wife allowed us to live here."
"Unless," Caroll said, "she was already part of the family and was sympathetic to them."
"Yes."
"But being as I can't have children, that scuppers the whole thing. If only I'd been born a girl."
"Then by now," Caroline said, "you'd probably have a boyfriend, I wouldn't have particularly noticed you and brought you here to introduce you to Uncle Joseph. If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride. It's simply no good saying, 'If only.' Far better to say how can we influence the future for the better?"
"Well, I can't biologically have children, full stop. There's no way around that."
"Could you go and bring down that Big Busts pamphlet I gave you?" Caroline asked. "I think there might just be a way forward."
Caroll ran to her bedroom and came back clutching it. "What is it you think… Oh!"
"They talk about a Pregnancy Torsolet, don't they? Let's enquire in the morning."
"But Aunt, it's no good looking as though I'm pregnant. I have to deliver a baby, and presumably they'll check the DNA against Seph's, so I can't just borrow any old baby."
"Have you heard of surrogate babies? That might be an option?"
"I don't really understand what they are."
"Basically, it would be using Joseph's sperm to create a baby with a surrogate mother, who would commit to giving over the child when it's born."
Caroll looked quizzical. "Would a baby's mother do that? I mean, she might say she would but when it came down to it…"
"We need to investigate," Caroline said. "First thing, let's arrange in the morning to go into Big Busts in my lunch break. You don't have anything arranged with Uncle, do you?"
Caroll shook her head. "No, we sort of left it open."
"OK, until tomorrow lunchtime, then."
***
Caroll took the bus into town next day and spent a few minutes wandering through the shopping area which, as men do, Joseph had rapidly passed by on his introductory tour the previous day. As Carl, he had always been embarrassed at staring into the windows of dress shops, but now she could spend ages simply admiring every pretty dress and blouse. So much so that she suddenly realised it was getting late for her appointment with her aunt. Fortunately, she just made it in time and she timidly went into the downstairs shop. Upon explaining she had an appointment, she was rapidly shown upstairs, offered a comfortable seat and a cup of tea or coffee.
Caroline arrived a few minutes later and they were immediately shown into the same consultation room where Carl's transformation had taken place on Sunday.
"Is everything all right with your transformation?" Susan, the consultant asked them.
"It's wonderful," Caroll answered. "I just can't believe how I've changed over the last few days and how happy I've become."
"That's excellent news," Susan said. "You'd be amazed how many of our first time clients say exactly the same. So how can I help you today?"
Caroll nervously looked at Caroline, who said, "We realise it's a bit quick, but an opportunity has come up and we wanted to investigate the Pregnancy Torsolets you talk about in your brochure."
"Wow, that is quick," Susan smiled. "Can I ask is it just for a single occasion, or do you want to go through several months, or even a full-term pregnancy?"
"It would be full term," Caroline explained.
"Then let me explain about our complete surrogacy package, designed to provide a total pregnancy experience, from conception through to childbirth."
"How would that work?" Caroline queried.
"Well, firstly, I need to say that we are not allowed by law to become involved in any surrogacy arrangement. What we can do is to provide equipment to facilitate any arrangement you may make with others. Is that OK?"
They both nodded affirmative.
"With the surrogacy package, we’d fit you with a series of Torsolets for the full term, and beyond. Obviously, conception is a hugely important moment in your pregnancy, and the vagina in your pregnancy starter Torsolet will have special facilities to collect and harvest your partner's semen, so you would have normal intercourse with your partner in order to start fertilisation. Whereas our conventional vaginas are designed to be realistic but also easily cleanable, this vagina has a Fallopian Tube fitted with a special collection condom so semen will be stored in the Fallopian tube after intercourse until you harvest it."
"Harvest it?" Caroll asked.
"We’d recommend harvesting once a day when you’re having regular intercourse," Susan said. "Essentially it means removing the condom from your Fallopian Tube and freezing it for storage. You’ll have a little tool to remove the condom, then you seal it, rinse the outside and pop it in the freezer. You'd then use the other end of the tool to insert a new collection condom in your Fallopian tube.
"Our company cannot be involved in the arrangements for transportation and insemination in the surrogate mother," she continued. "And we appreciate the relationship between you and the surrogate may be very close or totally remote. So we have built in what we regard as a very nice feature to make you feel much more connected to your pregnancy. We will issue a 'I am pregnant,' button for the surrogate. As soon as she presses it, a message is sent to your Torsolet via the internet; a valve will operate and the bladder in front of your tummy will very slowly start filling. During the first three months, a pregnant woman gains between one and two kilograms. So your first suspicion of being pregnant will be when you experience slight discomfort as the bladder in the Torsolet stomach grows and you start putting on weight."
"Wow," Caroline said. "That is fantastic. It would be your body telling you that you were pregnant."
"Where does the liquid come from?" Caroll asked.
"Liquid?"
"You said the first thing I'd notice would be the pressure on my stomach as I put on weight, so therefore you must be adding liquid to the bladder and I wondered where it came from."
"You're obviously interested in those aspects," Susan said, "but our intention with our surrogacy package is to totally immerse the mother-to-be in her pregnancy, from conception to childbirth and breast feeding. If you go ahead with this package, I would urge you to let us worry about the how, and you simply concentrate upon being a pregnant mother-to-be." She smiled. "Pregnancy is a fantastic experience, and we want you to experience it to the full. So you would come in here for regular check-ups, and with each Trimester we would change out the Torsolet for one designed for your next period of pregnancy. With the Torsolet for the third trimester, you'll be able to feel your baby kicking."
"That's incredible," Caroline said.
"As you and the surrogate approach childbirth, we can make arrangements with the surrogate’s midwife to synchronise delivery. Again, handover from surrogate to mother cannot be our responsibility, but we can make the physical things happen. You will experience a physical childbirth."
"That sounds just wonderful," Caroline said. "Don’t you think so, Caroll?"
"I’m not certain," Caroll said. "It sounds rather scary."
Susan touched Caroll’s hand and said, "It’ll be tremendously exciting, Caroll, but I do understand it’s a huge step for you. Go home and think it through carefully. Obviously, you’ll need to discuss it with your partner and the surrogate; I suggest getting a solicitor involved as well, as there are all kinds of legal issues. But if you decide to go ahead, as far as we know, we are the only company which offers this kind of service."
As Susan watched the two leave the premises, she thought she’d handled that quite well. The surrogacy package was an idea they had tossed around at team meetings. Now they were hopefully going to have to put it into practice.
***
"What do you think?" Caroline asked Caroll as they walked away.
"I just don't know," Caroll said. "Just a few days ago, I was a teenage boy; now I'm a teenage girl which would be change enough; but I'm facing up to marriage and childbirth. It sounds…"
"Yes?"
"It sounds like a dream but I’m not certain whether it’s nightmare or fairy-tale. Then, if I did decide to go ahead, there's also the issue of what I tell Seph? Are you suggesting I cheat on him? Tell him nothing about a surrogate mother?"
"I think it's better if I talk to Uncle about it. I will probably tell him a limited amount and then say it's better for him not to know anything else. He knows he can trust me, and it's then up to him if he wants to hear further details."
"What about if something goes wrong with the surrogacy, like Susan seemed to suggest could happen? It all seems fraught with problems."
"We'll have to make certain the surrogate is someone we can trust."
***
Caroline telephoned Maggie later that afternoon.
"How’s Uncle this afternoon? What’s his reaction to Caroll’s response to his proposal, yesterday?"
"He’s like a cat on a hot tin roof. He’s desperately hoping Caroll will come round here or you’ll have some news. You’d better speak to him in a minute."
"I will, but first I’d better bring you up to date on our meeting at Big Busts at lunchtime."
After telling her of the meeting, she added, "I’ve also just spoken with the Trust solicitor and sounded him out about a surrogacy."
"What did he say?"
"Provided we could trust the surrogate, he thought it would work fine. The crucial thing is that it would be Uncle Joseph’s semen which created the baby, so the baby would inherit when it came of age. In the meantime, Joseph’s widow would have right of occupancy."
"But he said we’d have to trust the surrogate absolutely?" Maggie asked. "There’d be no legal agreement we could draw up which would force the surrogate to keep her word?"
"No," Caroline said. "We’d have to absolutely trust the surrogate. What about one of your daughters?"
They chatted for some time about potential surrogates, until Maggie finally said, "It seems to me there’s only one suitable person out of all those we've discussed. Do you agree?"
"Yes," Caroline said. "I suppose you’re right."
"Do you want me to ask her?" Maggie said.
"I guess you’d better."
***
"Hi Uncle. How’re things?" Caroline asked.
"I'm in a turmoil," he told her. "Presumably you know I proposed to Caroll yesterday and she fobbed me off. Said she had some medical problem and couldn’t give me children?"
"Yes, Uncle, I know all about that. I’ve been with Caroll to see a specialist this lunchtime."
"And?" He was desperate for an answer.
"I think there could be a solution to her specific problems..."
"Thank God!"
"But I'm not going to give you many details unless you really want me to and I don't recommend that. You'll just have to trust me. Also, it will be very expensive." She named a price to which he made no comment.
"It will mean you can marry Caroll and have sex, and you may produce a beautiful baby. But you of all people know there are all kinds of risk with pregnancy. And even though it’s possible, it doesn’t mean Caroll will want to marry you at her young age. I mean, why should she? What can you offer her apart from pregnancy, childbirth and bringing up kids? Young people don’t want that nowadays and who can blame them?"
"I think she quite likes me."
"Of course she likes you, but that’s not the same as undying love, the kind you’ll sacrifice the rest of your life for. And we have to be realistic, Uncle, you’re not going to live forever, so what about her financial security? I have checked with the Trust solicitor and he’s happy that if Caroll was pregnant with your baby she could remain living here after your death. But will she have money to live on?"
"I have given that some thought. Of course, Carrie, it would mean I’d have less wealth to will to you when I’ve gone..."
"Don’t be stupid, Uncle. Of course you’ll have to support Caroll and your child or children properly. Maggie and I will be grateful if we can stay living at the house."
"Thanks love. In that case, can you tell her?"
"It would be better if you did. Shall I ask her to come round tomorrow?"
"Wonderful," Joseph said.
***
When she got home that evening, Caroline said to Caroll, "Maggie and I have found a trustworthy surrogate who would bear your child if that’s what you wanted. I’ve also spoken with Uncle about your ability to give him a baby
"What did you tell him? The truth?"
"I didn’t tell him any lies although I was economical with the truth."
"But he needs to know."
"Why? I thought what Susan described at lunchtime was absolutely fantastic. If you choose to marry Uncle, you will have sexual intercourse with him resulting in a baby being born. That’s what he wants to hear. What’s more important to me is how you feel about marrying Uncle and carrying his child. If the idea is repugnant to you then clearly there’s no point in going on."
"Carrie," Caroll said. "What’s happened to me over the last few days has been a whirlwind. I’m so overjoyed at everything you’ve done for me. So I will do almost anything I can to help you and I can’t deny that the idea of carrying a baby excites me like hell. But I’m not going to be able to go to university if I have a young child to bring up. I’d have to put my career on hold for years."
"Uncle is quite wealthy. He will make a substantial allowance for you in his will. Maybe you don’t need to worry about a career."
"Not worry? How much is he talking about?"
"He’d like to meet up with you tomorrow and you can discuss things. Will you do that?"
"Of course. I’ve been feeling I’ve treated him badly. I’d like to make it up to him."
"OK, but remember what I said about not going too far. If you’re really considering marrying him, don’t make him drop dead beforehand!"
Caroll smiled. "I won’t."
***
"Hi Caroll," Sharon said as she opened the front door to her, next morning.
"Hi Sharon. How are things with you?"
"Well, actually," Sharon said. "Things have moved forward a little on the chances of me becoming pregnant. You see there's this…"
"Sharon," Maggie‘s voice cut through. "Don't keep Caroll standing on the doorstep all day. Bring her in."
"Oh sorry, Mum. Yes, come in, Caroll."
"Before you see Joseph," Maggie said, "can I have a quick word with you?"
"Of course," she said, and Maggie led the way to the empty lounge and shut the door.
"I think you know that Carrie and I have been trying to arrange a surrogate mother, to, er… assist matters along to give Joseph and you a child, and it looks like we have found someone."
"Yes, that's so good of you to do this, although I'm still not certain..."
"It's important," Maggie interrupted, "that you don't know the identity of the surrogate for certain legal reasons. So can you promise me that you won't try to find out? If say, Sharon becomes pregnant or you see a pregnant woman visiting this house, it doesn't mean she's your surrogate and you mustn't try to find out if she is. Do you understand?"
"Legal reasons?"
"Don't ask, and we won't have to respond to your question. I know it's a little strange, but it's for everyone's benefit. Is that all right?"
Caroll nodded. "I guess so. Ask no questions and get told…"
"Absolutely," Maggie said. "Now let me take you in to see Joseph."
"Before I go in," Caroll said, "do you think I could put on another of Caroll's Caper's dresses?"
"Oh love! Of course you can. Let's go upstairs to the attic."
***
"Oh God, Caroll." Joseph almost ran across the room towards her, wrapped his arms around her and kissed her on the lips. "You look absolutely ravishing," he said, once the kiss had ended.
Caroll smirked at him. "Thanks, Seph. That was a nice greeting."
"Look, Caroll. I'm sorry I sprung things on you on Monday, but I'd had such a wonderful day, I felt I couldn't contain myself. Obviously, if you don't want to get married and have babies and things, then I completely understand, but…"
"Seph," Caroll interrupted. "I have thought about it very carefully, and I am sorely tempted, but I hopefully have some kind of a career ahead of me. I need to get qualifications and a job."
"And I'm asking you to put your career on hold for years," Joseph said. "Obviously, I will provide for you, both whilst I'm alive and when I die. So you'll have a dowry when we marry, and a regular income which will increase for each baby born to you." He named the sums and Caroll gasped.
"But that’s huge. If I had four children, I’d be getting more money than most people can ever expect to earn."
"The one proviso is that I can do nothing about your residency here after my death if you don't conceive. As long as you bear at least one child of mine, you can live here for life. And I hope I can depend on you to provide a home for Carrie and Maggie."
"Well if time is short," Caroll said. "We'd better get married straightaway."
MARRIAGE
It was to be a small wedding, everyone agreed. With time at a premium, a larger, more lavish wedding would simply take far too long to organise. From Caroll’s side, she certainly didn’t want to invite her family or step-family, as the truth would certainly come out of the bag. So, the notice was served on the registrar, and everything else was minimised, with only one exception, Caroll wanted a beautiful dress based upon a Caroll’s Capers' design. The original dressmaker was found and she was delighted to design a dress for this occasion. The wedding ceremony, wedding feast and the honeymoon would all take place no further away than Seacombe’s Grand Hotel, and Joseph and Caroll would continue staying at the Grand until the refurbishment of their downstairs master bedroom was complete.
***
"You look absolutely beautiful," Caroline said, as the dressmaker did her final smoothing down of the dress, before they would step outside of Caroline's house and meet the photographer, who would do a series of photographs around the stable block, before getting into the limo to take them to the Grand Hotel.
"Thanks, Carrie. Do I really look as beautiful as I feel."
"More so. You look ravishing. Have a lovely day and the rest of your life."
"Thank you so much, Carrie, for the wonderful way in which you have changed my life."
"I'm just so pleased everything has turned out right," Caroline said. "Now, let's go and have a wedding."
***
It was many hours later before Caroll and Joseph were finally in their bedroom at the Grand. When booking the rooms, they had looked at the Bridal Suite but found it just too ostentatious for them, so had chosen one of the Grand's State Rooms, which they both found much nicer and more comfortable.
"Thank you so much, Seph, for making such a wonderful day. Now, we shall have a wonderful night together," Caroll said.
"Well, actually," Joseph said, "I'm feeling a bit sleepy. Let's get to sleep now, then we can canoodle in the morning."
Caroline, who'd apparently had some experience with older men, had told her what might happen and why, and the way to overcome such issues.
"Seph, I am yours, now, but that also means that you are mine. I'm not after a five minute quickie, but I do want to show my love to you. Now, why don't you show your love to me by sucking on this pair of beauties?"
Joseph gasped as Caroll pulled down the front of her dress, and before he could say a word, she pushed his head down and filled his mouth with her breast.
Later, much, much later, Joseph said with a wide grin on his mouth, "I guess the words, 'How was it for you?' are rather superfluous. I've never given a woman a screaming orgasm before."
"No man has ever touched me down there, before, never mind given me what you just have," Caroll said. Of course, she thought, turning up the Sensotouch on her new Pregnancy Torsolet had no doubt helped with the screaming orgasm, and her Fallopian tube must now have its first dollop of semen inside.
"Why don't we have a little rest now," Joseph said. "Then we can see what comes up, later."
"Just remember," Caroll said, "that what comes up, goes up."
"Love you," he said.
***
Next day, Caroll used the special tool to remove the collecting condom from her Fallopian tube, amazed at how much sperm there was inside the little balloon. She inserted a replacement and had just made herself decent, when she got a pre-arranged text message from Caroline to say she was outside their room in the corridor. Caroll put the condom into a hotel envelope, opened the door and silently passed it to Caroline.
"Wow," Caroline softly murmured, peering inside the envelope. "That's a lot. Those instructions I gave you must really have worked."
"They did, too," Caroll said. "Now, you'd better give that to the surrogate and get me pregnant."
Caroline gave a little grin. "No problem."
"Who's at the door?" Joseph called to Caroll.
"It's the cleaner," Caroll fibbed. "I told her to come back a bit later. Are we going for that walk down to the sea front?"
"You bet," Joseph said. "Then perhaps afterwards we could come back here and have tea and crumpet in the room?"
"Well, I don't think they'd let you have your crumpet on a coffee table in the lounge," Caroll quipped.
***
And so married life progressed, as it does for most new couples. They enjoyed each other's company, went for walks and then enjoyed each other's company again. Once their master bedroom had been refurbished, they were able to move back to the house, and the arrangements for passing on the little packages of semen were simplified. Caroll simply had to put the little packages into a used ice cream box in the freezer, and periodically, Caroline would take them out and pass them onto the surrogate.
Then, a month after their wedding, Sharon came into the lounge, buzzing with excitement. "I'm pregnant!" she yelled. "Yes! Yes! I'm pregnant."
"That's wonderful news," Caroll said to her. "When are you due?"
It was a simple question, but Sharon poured out mass of information: how many weeks she was gone; how she was going for a scan soon and would be able to tell everyone all about it; and how she wasn't quite certain who the father was.
"You don't know who the father is?" Joseph asked. "Are you…"
"We really don't want to know about your sex life," Maggie almost shouted at her, suddenly entering the room. "We're all absolutely delighted for you, but we'd rather not know the details. All right."
"Oh, sorry, Mum," Sharon said. "I shouldn't have said anything. I'll get on with the cleaning. But I am just so happy."
When Sharon had left the room, Joseph said, "You were a bit hard on her, Maggie. I'm sure we can cope with Sharon's sordid sex life."
"Sorry," Maggie said, "but I’d just rather she didn’t blab out personal details."
"Well, she can't hide for long the fact that she’s pregnant," Caroll said. "She can’t keep that quiet."
"Talking of that," Maggie said, "is there any news of your event yet?"
"Not yet," Caroll said, regretting ever discussing the subject, "but we’re really hopeful."
***
The following day, Caroll noticed a slight discomfort in her lower abdomen. It was too early to get excited, but she did wonder whether there was any connection between Sharon’s announcement and her own condition. Wisely, she kept quiet until she’d had chance to have a consultation with her Big Busts specialist.
PREGNANCY
"Seph. I’m pregnant! I’m pregnant! Oh, you’re going to be a father. Isn’t that wonderful?"
"Oh darling. It’s the best news any man could have."
"I must go and tell Maggie and Sharon. I know they’ll be thrilled by our news."
But after telling Maggie her news and being congratulated, Maggie was quite grumpy about Sharon. "She hasn’t come in today. Morning sickness, she says, although when I was working, I always got into work in spite of it. I hope you’re going to bear your baby with pride, Caroll, and not make a song and dance about it, as many women nowadays do." Maggie had never told Caroll she knew her birth gender; indeed, she stoically refused to even consider it. As far as she was concerned, Caroll was a married woman who needed help bearing children, and that was that.
"I’ll do my very best," Caroll replied, trying not to grin.
"And now you’re pregnant, you must keep up the exercise. Take Joseph a walk around the knoll, and make certain you do it every day. And make certain you keep him satisfied. You don’t want him looking around at other women at this stage in your lives."
"I’ll do my best, Maggie," Caroll said, recognising that Maggie had made an important point. It would be far too easy to get totally involved in her pregnancy, real or not, and as far as she was concerned, this was a real pregnancy. "But please don’t be hard on Sharon," she added. "She’s been waiting so long for this pregnancy you can understand why she’s so careful." After all, she thought but did not say, she has got to produce my baby.
***
For the first few months, pregnancy was really fun. Caroline took her out to buy a whole new wardrobe and as she started to swell, Caroll felt an incredible sense of achievement. This was a woman’s most basic purpose in life, and she was doing it. Joseph was incredibly proud of his input and, as Maggie had suggested, Caroll and he continued to bonk like rabbits, if rather elderly rabbits. Caroll continued to harvest his semen throughout the first trimester on the basis that Joseph might be poorly when it became time to start their next child. When it was time to move onto the Torsolet for the second trimester, she and Maggie agreed there was little point in continuing to collect semen since there was now an ice cream box full of it in the freezer; surely sufficient to fertilise Caroll’s pregnancy into old age.
With the excitement of pregnancy, Caroll didn’t notice at first, but her relationship with Caroline seemed to grow more distant. Obviously, now she had moved from living in Caroline‘s stables into the main house, they were not continually on top of each other, but after a while, Caroll noticed Caroline was coming round to the house less often. She suspected that she (Caroll) probably bored Caroline with her endless chatter about motherhood; indeed, she now spent endless time talking with Sharon, which rather indicated how boring she had become.
Caroll tried to make a special effort to re-engage her relationship with Caroline, but Caroline explained that her work was becoming extremely hectic at the moment, which was why they were seeing less of each other. Caroll suspected something rather deeper than that; with Caroline in her early forties, she would see the menopause looming on the horizon and be reaching the conclusion she would never have her own children. Apart from making intrusive suggestions about Caroline’s personal life, there seemed little she could do to help in that area, so Caroll eventually accepted they had grown more distant.
Then, when Caroline said she was being temporarily transferred to her company’s Edinburgh office, Caroll wondered how much Caroline had encouraged the move. In any case, she thought, moving to a new office would bring Caroline into contact with new people; she might find love as a result. So they all wished her good luck and said goodbye, for the time being, with Caroline promising to return hot foot, as soon as the baby was born.
***
It was as Caroll entered her third trimester that pregnancy stopped being fun, and more something to be endured in order to give birth. As a genetic male, she thought she'd be inherently stronger than genetic females, so would have no problems coping with the extra weight. She was astonished at the stamina she needed to carry her bulge around, all day and every day. The gentle curves she'd had until then were now expanded so she looked and felt like a huge shapeless balloon, but a balloon filled not with air but with flesh and blood, which was so heavy to carry around, she just wanted to keel over. She became worn out just walking around the house.
Her lactating breasts made it even worse. During her second trimester, Susan had explained that recent medical trials had shown that genetic males were able to breast feed their babies. If Caroll wanted, Big Busts could include built-in breast pumps in their third trimester Torsolet.
"How would it work?" Caroll had asked.
"Your next Torsolet would be fitted with a pump in each breast." Susan said. They had discussed this very element within Big Busts just before Caroll’s appointment, so she was having to go carefully. "It will take many weeks of pumping before you start expressing milk, but when you do, it will be pumped into sterile bladders connected between your own nipples and the nipples on the Torsolet. So when your baby's born, he or she will have a ready supply of your natural milk to feed on."
"You mean I'll produce milk which will be stored inside the Torsolet breast?" Caroll asked.
"Yes it will," Susan replied. "But until your baby is born, you'll need to express your milk in order to avoid your breasts inflating like balloons. After childbirth, you'll be able to feed your baby from your own natural milk. Of course, you'll need to replace the bladder every day with new sterile one.
"We suggest you start using the breast pump as soon as you're fitted with your next Torsolet. Frequent pumping throughout the day and night appears to be the key to getting even male breasts to lactate, although you may need some hormone enhancement, which we can give you advice on."
"Won’t the pump be noisy?"
"It's reasonably quiet, but not silent, so we recommend pumping in private if your partner is not aware of what's happening."
The idea was exciting both in theory and in practice; she found the act of pumping a very emotive experience. However, it meant going to the bathroom every two hours in order to switch on her breast pumps and try to start lactating. After a month or so, she started getting minute drops of milk, after another month, there were reasonable quantities and in the final month she was producing milk like a prize cow. Of course, creating the milk inside her body was in itself enormously tiring, which was compounded by having to get up throughout the night at two hourly intervals in order to pump.
But the real problem was the increased size and weight of her breasts. For a start, because her natural breasts were lactating, they had grown to a size almost unique for a genetic male without hormone treatment or implants. Then, the milk pumped from them was being stored in the bladders inside the Torsolet breasts. Add that to the original silicone implants which came within the Torsolet and Caroll had massive breasts. She could remember how a year ago, large breasts had been erotic; now they were as erotic as a cow’s udder and were just extra weight which had to be carried around. But then, on the other hand, her natural breasts were lactating, which was tremendously stimulating and moving, knowing that all being well, her new baby would shortly be feeding from them.
Caroll had long ago abandoned any thought that this was a sham pregnancy. She was carrying the weight of a pregnant woman, she waddled as she walked, leaning right back so that the weight of her bulge was carried straight down her legs; her breasts were lactating, and every few minutes, the baby was kicking hard. She had got to the point of wearily looking forward to childbirth in order to have a rest. Little did she know.
CHILDBIRTH
As Sharon approached her final weeks of pregnancy, she gave up working at the house and Maggie’s eldest daughter, Jenny, stood in for as cleaner. As a mother of two, she knew all about the trials of pregnancy, and was initially very helpful to Caroll, without continually talking about it, as Sharon had done. The problem was, as Jenny got to know Caroll better, she started becoming quite bossy about her pregnancy. It got even worse when Maggie told her she was going up to London to stay with Rachel for a few weeks. Apparently, she was off work with some unspecified "woman’s problem".
"Caroll, I can't understand," Jenny said, "why you're not having your baby at the Maternity Unit at Seacombe General Hospital. They have a really good record; everyone says they're brilliant, so why are you going to this other unit which I've never heard of?"
Sharon, of course, had never asked her such questions, presumably because she knew Caroll's pregnancy really was all a sham.
"I've had complications with my pregnancy since before conception. I have every confidence in the team I'm dealing with."
"Well I can't understand why they're not inducing you. You said you've gone well past your due date and you're clearly ready for it."
"My due date was only very approximate since I hadn't been having regular periods."
"Never mind. Dr Shah at the Maternity Unit is brilliant. You shouldn't be messing with these others."
"I'm sorry Jenny, it's all arranged and I really don't want to start changing things."
Jenny sniffed in a way that said it wasn't done at all, but just then the telephone rang and she went off to answer it.
"Seacombe... Oh hi... Really? Oh that’s brilliant news. I’ll tell Caroll. OK. Bye."
Jenny put down the phone and turned to Caroll. "Sharon’s had a little boy, seven pounds, five ounces. They’re both doing well. Isn’t that marvelous?"
"Er, yes. Absolutely fantastic," Caroll said, but was really wondering why she hadn't been summoned to the Big Busts pregnancy suite, as she'd been told she would. Maybe with Maggie being away, a chain of communication had broken. She left Jenny and went to the study in order to ring them up.
"I'm sorry," Susan said. "We've had no notice that the surrogate's given birth, although obviously it will be soon. But don't worry, Caroll. Even if the surrogate has delivered early, we can still go through your own childbirth a day or so later, as long as the arrangement with the surrogate is still intact. Have you spoken with Maggie or Caroline? They were coordinating arrangements with the surrogate."
Caroll tried telephoning both of them, but Caroline's phone was switched off and Maggie didn't answer hers. She tried several times over the course of the afternoon and into the evening, without success. Joseph kept asking what was wrong with her, but she obviously couldn't tell him anything, so she just worried on her own.
***
Jenny was upstairs when the doorbell rang so Caroll went to the front door and opened it.
"Caroll," Sharon greeted her, holding a little bundle in her arms. "I've brought little Randolph to see you."
"Oh," Caroll exclaimed. "Isn't he wonderful? But shouldn't you have…" She broke off as she realised Jenny was coming up behind her, admiring the baby and listening to their conversation.
"Shouldn't I have what?" Sharon asked.
"I mean," Caroll flustered, "you shouldn't really have named him. That's for us to do, surely?"
"Caroll. Have you taken leave of your senses? Why should my employer name my baby?"
A sense of dread swept through Caroll. Something had gone horribly wrong with the surrogacy, and she was on the point of childbirth without a baby to be born.
"Sharon," she said, "you're looking awfully worn out after what you've gone through. Why don't you come in and lie down for a little and I'll look after Randolph?" What a terrible name she thought; we're certainly going to name him something else.
"I really am fine," Sharon said. "Anyway, I couldn't bear to be parted from Randolph. I'm never separated from him."
In any case, Caroll thought, if she ran away with Randolph now to the Big Busts pregnancy suite, surely the police would come looking for her. But further thought on the subject was pushed aside as the first contraction ripped through her body.
"Aagh-aagh-aagh!" yelled Caroll.
"It's all right love," Jenny said, comforting her. "It's only the first contraction. You're just in pre-labour. No need to do anything yet."
"That contraction," Sharon said, "lasted for almost a minute. She's moving into active labour. She needs to go to the Maternity Unit now."
"There's plenty of time," Jenny countered. "No need to panic."
"Aagh!" Caroll yelled, as a second contraction ripped through her.
"My car's outside," Sharon said. "We'll use that. It will be quicker than waiting for an ambulance."
Between her and Jenny, they manhandled her towards Sharon's car. Sharon ran back to get Randolph and then, as Caroll went into another contraction, Jenny dashed back to get Caroll's ready-packed suitcase.
"I need to go," Caroll said, "to my special birth unit on Edward Street."
"Right, no problems," Sharon said, getting behind the wheel of her car. She hadn't a clue where Edward Street was but she knew where the Maternity Unit was. They could sort things out there.
***
"Aagh-aagh-aagh!" yelled Caroll as the car rolled up to the Maternity Unit.
A couple of porters near the door ran over with a stretcher and helped her onto it. She was wheeled into a bay inside the Maternity Unit and slid onto a bed.
"Aagh-aagh-aagh!" yelled Caroll.
"Let me just listen to the baby's heartbeat," a midwife said, sweeping into the bay, stethoscope in hand. She placed it onto Caroll's stomach and listened, moved it slightly, and then again. "Doctor in Bay Six," she called out.
Within seconds, an Asian doctor came in. "I can't hear a heartbeat," the midwife said.
"Thank heavens," Jenny said. "It's Dr Shah. Don't worry, Caroll, he'll sort it."
"Where am I?" Caroll asked, looking around for the first time.
"You're in Seacombe General Maternity Unit," Dr Shah explained as he used his stethoscope all over Carroll's tummy. "What's your name?"
"Aagh-aagh-aagh!" yelled Caroll.
"It's Mrs Caroll Harper," Jenny said.
"Mrs Harper," Dr Shah said. "We can't find your baby's heartbeat. We're going to have to do an immediate Caesarean Section, do you understand? Do we have your permission?"
"Aagh-aagh-aagh!" yelled Caroll.
"Go ahead," Jenny and Sharon said, almost simultaneously.
"What relation are you to the patient?" the midwife asked.
"We're the cleaners," Jenny explained.
Dr Shah shook his head. "Mrs Harper. Can you understand me? I need to do an immediate Caesarean section. Do I have your permission?"
"What?" Caroll's eyes suddenly shot wide open. "No! No! N… Aagh-aagh-aagh!"
"Mrs Harper. You will lose your baby and maybe your life unless you allow us to do…"
"Aagh-aagh-aagh!" yelled Caroll.
"If only she'd pass out," the midwife muttered, "we could take emergency action and get on with it."
"Who's her next of kin?" Dr Shah asked.
"Her husband, Joseph," Sharon replied. "I've got his mobile number here." She put Randolph into her other arm and searched her mobile with her one hand. It's 07790…"
"That's his old number," Jenny said. "He's changed it now. I'll find it."
"Can we get everyone out of here?" Dr Shah ordered the midwife, and she unceremoniously bundled them all out of the bay.
"I've got the number here, Dr Shah," Jenny shouted from outside the bay.
As soon as the last of them had left the bay, Caroll still bent double, slid off the bed and crawled on her hands and knees beneath a curtain into the neighbouring bay. There was a woman screaming on the bed, her legs splayed wide facing Caroll whilst a midwife called "Push! Push!" Caroll continued moving on her hands and knees around the bed and then out into the corridor. By the time Dr Shah had managed to speak with Joseph, she was climbing into a taxi outside.
"Are you all right, love?" the taxi driver asked her. "It looks like you ought to be arriving here, not driving away."
"Edward Street," she said. "Number twenty-one." Then, "Aagh-Aagh-Aagh!"
***
The woman who helped Caroll out of the taxi wore a label saying 'Midwife', but in fact she hadn't been a midwife for several years. Now she was employed by Big Busts to go through the motions of it.
"I've lost my baby," Caroll said to her between contractions. "She was so close. But I simply couldn't pull her out of the surrogate's grasp."
"Don't be silly," the midwife said. "The surrogate is here now and she's just going into labour. I'm afraid it will be some time before your baby is born."
"The surrogate is here?" Carol’s mouth dropped open. "But I thought... Who is it? Can I see her?"
"I’m sorry, love. There’s no contact with the surrogate allowed. But your friend, Maggie’s here, as well. I’m sure she’ll come through when you’re about to give birth."
"Maggie’s here?" Relief flooded through her. Of course! Everything made sense, now, especially the surrogate's identity. "Oh, that’s wonderful. I’ll just wait here until things are about to happen."
"I think things are happening..."
"Aagh-aagh-aagh!" yelled Caroll.
"…now," the midwife concluded "I’m afraid it’s going to be slightly painful."
MOTHERHOOD
"I still can’t get over just how much milk you produce," Caroline said, as three-month-old Josephine slurped noisily at Caroll’s breast. Caroline had wangled some sabbatical time away from her job in Edinburgh so she could help Caroll with her newborn, although Maggie had provided most of the help whilst Caroline had hovered around as a virtual grandmother. "Josephine is such a big girl, now, and you're still feeding her from your breasts. Many genetic females have switched to formula by now."
"I guess it’s the frequent pumping," Caroll said. "It's every hour, now. Seph prefers to sleep separately so he’s not disturbed by Jo waking in the night. It means I can have my breast pumps on automatic, so I don’t even have to wake up properly to express milk, so it’s all there ready for when little Jo wants it. Isn’t it my lovely darling?" Caroll smiled down at Jo and she smiled back at Caroll.
Caroline couldn’t help smirking at the pair. "I’m so glad everything turned out all right," she said.
"The only thing," Caroll said, "well, this morning, I felt a little pressure against my abdomen, the same as I did when I became pregnant."
"You mean you may be pregnant again?" Caroline grinned.
"I can’t understand why," Caroll said.
"Aren’t you and Joseph having sex?"
"Yes, we are, but..."
"That’s fine then. You’re not on the birth pill, since it wouldn’t work for you. Even if you were using condoms, there’s still a relatively high pregnancy rate."
"But it’s not about me, is it? We’d need to get the surrogate involved again."
"The surrogate was tasked originally," Caroline said, "to have up to four babies. She’s received all the semen you harvested, which should be sufficient for dozens of babies so we don’t need to do anything for her to become pregnant again. As far as you're concerned, it will just happen and then all she needs to do is to push her 'I am pregnant' button, again."
"But I don’t think I’m ready, just yet, for my next baby."
"Then get used to the idea," Caroline said. "Women everywhere have to accept the fact that pregnancy happens.
"And I think," she added, "that it’s wonderful news. I’m so pleased for you both."
"But Aunt," Caroll said. "That means I may have my next baby and then become pregnant again, a few months after that."
"Now you understand what it means to be a woman," Caroline said. But at the same time, she couldn’t help thinking back to that conversation with Maggie, a year previously, about choosing the surrogate mother.
***
Maggie had said, "It seems to me there’s only one suitable person out of all those we've discussed. Do you want me to ask her?" and she had replied, "I suppose you’d better."
"OK," Maggie said. "Carrie, you said just now that you've always wanted to have babies."
"Oh yes," Caroline replied, "Lots of them. But the problem was I never wanted to put my career on hold whilst I brought up a family. In any case, there was only one man I ever loved sufficiently to want to have his babies."
"And the irony was," Maggie responded, "he was the one man you could never marry, even though you weren't biologically related to him."
"Yes," Caroline said. "And he would never have felt comfortable having a sexual relationship with his adopted daughter, so it was always sexual love unrequited."
"So, Caroline, will you be the surrogate mother for Joseph and Caroll?"
"Maggie, I think that would be illegal, so I must reply 'No' to your question. But what I will say to you is that I know someone who will do it, and you can leave all that side to me. Caroll will be the mother on the birth certificate and no one but me will know who the surrogate is. OK?"
"Absolutely," Maggie replied. "The name of the surrogate will be known only to you. I’m so pleased that you’ve made the right decision. Joseph has said he’s thinking of having up to four children. How would the surrogate feel about that?"
"Well I’m..." Caroline broke off with a laugh. "Better get it right. I'm certain the surrogate will be absolutely delighted."
Author's Note: This story was originally published on Fictionmania under the title of "The Princess and the Frog." It has been modified, and is republished under its new title. This story contains adult subject matter, some of which includes illegal acts, as do many of my stories. Most of the characters are nice, and one is just plain evil. Do not read it if such material is likely to offend you, or it is illegal to read it in your country. Otherwise, please sit back, read and enjoy.
by Charlotte Dickles
CHAPTER 1
"Mr Hughes, please come in," Mr Bain said, "and thank you for coming to see us so promptly."
He could hardly have done otherwise, Steve Hughes reflected, with yesterday's letter from the solicitors Bain, Bain and Bain burning a hole in his pocket; "He might learn," the letter had said, "something to his advantage provided he acted swiftly." Nevertheless, when he telephoned the solicitors he'd been astonished to be given an early-morning, next day appointment; clearly things did need to move fast. He returned Mr Bain's greeting, and they conducted the normal thirty seconds of small talk, prior to getting down to business.
"As I mentioned in my letter," Mr Bain commenced, "I need evidence that you are Stephen Frederick Hughes, and that your mother was Charlotte Fredericka Hughes (nee Mansfield). Hopefully you've brought your passport, and your own and your mother's birth certificates..." (he paused and looked for Steve's confirming nod before continuing) "...so I'm going to ask you some questions, and then at the end, should the answers to the questions prove satisfactory, I will take a DNA sample, which will be sent to the laboratory for confirmation. Is that acceptable to you?"
Steve said that would be perfectly acceptable, thinking that considerable money must be involved if the client was prepared to go to the expense of a DNA analysis.
So, the solicitor examined the documents and then went through a series of questions about both him, and his mother, ranging from the date and place of birth, his parents' marriage and deaths, and finally coming around to everything he knew about his mother's estranged twin sister.
"I know that, like most twins," Steve said, "they had been really close. Then, when I was about five or six, they had a bust up and they never spoke again. Later, in the early 1990s, I heard that she'd emigrated to Europe and, as far as I know, she's never returned."
"Do you know where in Europe she lives?"
Steve shook his head. "No. When Mum was alive, we never exchanged a Christmas card with her. When Mum died last year from breast cancer, I tried to find her to let her know. The only clue I had was that my great-grandmother was supposed to have come from Russia sometime prior to World War I, and she was rumoured to have been a minor royalty before the Revolution. That's why Mum, my grandmother and I all have Frederick or Fredericka in our names. Personally, I think it's all rubbish but I did feel that perhaps Aunt Freddie might have gone there looking for her roots. Unfortunately, all my queries to the Russian Embassy were met with total silence."
"So your aunt's name was Fredericka, as well?"
Steve nodded. "I suppose so, although we always called her Freddie."
Mr Bain nodded for a few seconds, before saying, "Well, Mr Hughes, I believe that, rather than you finding your aunt, your aunt has found you. My client is Fredericka Mansfield. I'd like to take a DNA sample to confirm it, and I'll be passing that onto the laboratory, but since time is short, I can't wait for the results before proceeding to the next stage. I need to gain your assurance that everything I now tell you is in strictest confidence."
"In strictest confidence? Why's that?"
Mr Bain smiled. "I can't answer that until I have your assurance that you will not divulge the answer to anyone else - no one else whatsoever."
Steve shrugged. "I guess that's OK." Seeing the solicitor's dissatisfaction with that as a firm statement of intent, he added, "Yes, I will keep everything you tell me from now on in confidence."
"And not just what I tell you. You will need to see your aunt, and you will also keep all details of that in confidence."
Steve nodded. Clearly, he wasn't going to learn anything without that commitment. "I agree."
Mr Bain smiled. "Excellent. In that case, I can tell you that your aunt lives, not in Russia, but in Molvania." He withdrew an envelope from his desk drawer. "Here is a British Airways Club Class Return ticket to Budapest, and the flight is booked for 2 pm this afternoon. You'll be met at Budapest Airport for onward transportation to Molvania. I trust that is satisfactory?"
Steve tried to stop his jaw from gaping. "You're expecting me to fly to Eastern Europe this afternoon. I haven't even packed a toothbrush."
Mr Bain looked at the wall clock. "You'll have ample time to purchase a toothbrush at Heathrow Airport," he said. "As for everything else, I've been advised that you should travel light. Everything you need will be provided in Molvania."
"But don't I need a visa or paperwork?"
"You have your passport with you," Mr Bain said, "and Hungary is in the European Union so you have full EU citizenship rights, there. As for Molvania, I have been assured there will be absolutely no problem with your entry into that country."
"But..." Steve faltered as he hopelessly tried to grasp the reality of the situation he was faced with.
"Of course," Mr Bain continued, "you don't have to travel this afternoon."
Steve gasped at the straw. "I don't?"
"Of course not. It's entirely up to you when you travel. All I can say is that I have been told that the matter is of the utmost urgency. In my experience, that can mean anything between two extremes: the first is that the client is incredibly impatient and expects everyone else to run around for them; the second is that the client - perhaps a wealthy client - is dying and wishes to see a potential beneficiary prior to remaking a will. As they say, it's your call to decide which it might be. All I can advise is that you really have nothing to lose by acting quickly, and potentially a huge amount to lose if you do not."
CHAPTER 2
"Mister Hughes?" (She pronounced it, " Meester Hug-Heez.")
When the door had opened and three sexy girls had come out to greet him, his heart had immediately filled with joy. He'd had a long journey, commencing with the BA flight to Budapest. Then he'd been met and put as the only passenger onto an elderly, twin-engined aircraft that had seen better days. The interior would have been called luxurious in 1950, when it would clearly have been the top of the range in executive planes. Now, it had all looked extremely dated and rather shabby.
But his spirits sank to the dregs of his stomach when he realised that the guide book to "Moldavia", which he'd bought at Heathrow and read with great interest all through the flight to Budapest, was of absolutely no relevance whatsoever, since he was going to Molvania! He'd had a long day, he felt stupid, and he didn't know where the hell he was going.
From the limited information on the plane - and the only stewardess was under specific orders not to converse with him - Molvania was a tiny state, about ten miles long, set in the Carpathian Mountains, which, since the break up of the Soviet Union, had returned to a monarchy. Great!
After a two-hour flight, the plane had landed at a small airport and he'd been picked up by an elderly Rolls Royce and taken to what looked like a fairy-tale castle, with portcullis and drawbridge, and spires and turrets shooting into the air.
The car had driven over the drawbridge and stopped immediately outside the wooden door, which gave entrance to the castle. The driver made no effort to get out and help him, so Steve got out by himself, walked over to the door and used the gigantic door-knocker to create a sound to wake the dead.
Rolls Royces, even quite elderly ones, do not make much noise as they move, so after being deafened by the door-knocker, Steve wasn't even aware that it had departed until he heard the rattling of the portcullis, and looked around to see that the huge iron gate had already fallen into place and the drawbridge was lifting, totally cutting him off from the rest of the world. As a large frog sitting next to the door started croaking, Steve felt the whole situation was rapidly taking on the scenario of a horror movie, except that this was real life, and he was really frightened to face he-did-not-know-what the other side of the door.
In fact, he was faced with three pairs of beautifully large tits on display, on teenage girls wearing unfashionable dresses which made them resemble fairy princesses - scooped necklines with puffy sleeves, narrow waists, then swirling chiffon which swept down to the floor. They wore bands in their hair - not quite crowns, but giving the same impression of regality.
"Hughes," he said, correcting the pronunciation of the shortest girl.
"Whose?" the shortest girl repeated, looking puzzled. Then her face broke into laughter as she followed his eye downwards. "These are ours," she said, thrusting her breasts forward. "Not belong to anyone else. At least, "and she made eyes at him and her smile widened, "not yet."
He couldn't resist another glance downwards in their general direction, and the three girls laughed and obligingly shook their shoulders for him, and their boobs wobbled like jellies.
"Sorry," he said, unsuccessfully trying not to blush. "I meant my name is pronounced Hughes."
"Ah, Hews," the second girl said, nodding. "I am Princess Beatrix. Thees," she waved at the taller girl behind her, "is my eldest sister, Princess Angelika, and she," indicating the smallest girl, "is my younger sister, Princess Caterina. Can we call you Steep-hen?"
"Call me Steve," he said. "Pleased to meet you." He was even more pleased when the princesses, in turn, gave him a kiss and a hug, pressing those lovely boobs against him, and giving him an instant hard on. Although, now he'd had a chance to clock them properly, he realised that, apart from their wonderful boobs, the three girls were not what one would call beautiful. Their faces were square-looking, with heavy jaws and foreheads. It made it quite difficult to guess their ages, probably about...
"I am of age eighteen years," Angelika said, guessing his thoughts.
"Seventeen," Beatrix said.
"Just sixteen," Caterina said, "and we are steep kuzan."
At least, that's what Steve thought she said. He was gradually getting used to their heavy Eastern European accents, but steep kuzan was not a term he could grasp.
"Steep kuzan, did you say?" he asked. "What does that mean?"
"Our father marry your aunt," Angelika explained.
"Ah!" Steve said. "Step-cousins."
"That's what I say," Caterina said, but further conversation was halted as an inner door inside the castle was flung open with a crash.
The three girls immediately swivelled around to face it, dropped onto one knee, lifted one side of their skirts in a curtsy, and said what Steve guessed was the equivalent of, "Your Majesty."
Steve felt rather out of place, having had no warning that a real king or queen was in the castle, and since it was not the kind of normal thing which happens to a guy living in Clapham - even when he visited historic castles - he wasn't even certain what he should do.
For a moment, he thought that the woman who came through the door was his own mother. A more careful examination made him realise that, simply by the way she carried herself, she was someone with immense presence, much younger-looking than the fifty-five years she must be. Perhaps a fortune spent on beauty treatments had considerably helped. Unfortunately, as soon as she opened her mouth she totally destroyed the illusion.
"Steve, love," she said, in a deep Cockney accent. "Your Aunt Freddie is simply dying for a kiss."
***
C-r-o-o-a-a-k," went the frog, as the man and the three princesses disappeared inside the castle.
In frog language, that meant something like, "If only one of you princesses had kissed me, I would have given you any wish you desired." But since he wasn't interested in the kisses of middle-aged queens, he turned his back and kept a look out for any passing food - he suddenly felt quite hungry and really fancied a nice, juicy fly.
CHAPTER 3
"Molvania is so difficult to get to, and there's so little to see when you do get here, that the marauding armies which periodically swept across this part of Europe, tended to leave us alone," said Aunt Freddie (or Queen Fredericka as she was officially known).
"But the monarchy was a direct challenge to the Bolsheviks," she continued. "When they took control of the region, they arrested every member of our royal family. They said it was for their own protection, but, in fact, they immediately executed them all. Fortunately, my grandmother - your great-grandmother - had been sent to England for schooling, and stayed on in England, hoping to return sometime, but of course, she never did."
Steve and his Aunt Freddie had adjourned to the Royal Chamber, leaving the girls in the main ceremonial hall. The Royal Chamber was a bit of an anti-climax, since the throne was covered in a drape and pushed to one side of the room and they sat in conventional swivel chairs at a boardroom table. Freddie had started to explain how she had got there.
"After the dissolution of the Soviet Union in 1991," she continued, "the Molvanians decided they wished to return to a monarchy, and sent for me, the eldest daughter of the only remaining bloodline of the original Molvanian royal family. I am now Queen Fredericka of the Monarchy of Molvania."
"Blimey!" Steve said.
That not may have been a response covered by normal royal protocol, but somehow, her Cockney accent removed any sense of awe he might otherwise have held her in. Which, he thought, just shows what a prejudiced mind I have! "But Aunt, how on earth could you suddenly take on the job of being a queen of a state, without a lifetime's training and being brainwashed into thinking that you're better than everyone else?"
She smiled. "I'd already had my training," she said. "Prior to that, I'd been Chief Executive on an Inner London council. Now, I have less money to spend and fewer population to manage than I did then. Of course, my job is made a lot easier since we don't have that stupid democracy thing to worry about, here. If I believe something is a good idea, I just do it. We may only be a small country, but Molvania has advanced faster than any other in the region since the fall of the USSR, and I'm certain that's down to me and to the monarchy."
"And you have a husband and three lovely step-daughters," he added.
"It's actually seven not-so-lovely step-daughters and one not-so-bad step-son," she replied. "The others are at our palace in the capital with my husband, Rudi. The sole reason I chose him as a husband was that his children were mostly girls, and I needed a daughter to continue the line. And so far, I'm afraid that Rudi has failed me. I remain a monarch without a heir."
"Why do you need a daughter rather than a son," he asked. "I thought the heir to the throne always went down the male line."
"Not in Molvania," his aunt said. "Between 1762 and 1884, there were a series of disastrous kings - who continually wasted money and lives on war - alternating with excellent queens - who promoted peace and prosperity. From then on, Molvania has only had female monarchs."
She smiled. "I'm afraid that means that, even if I pop off tomorrow, you, as the sole surviving member of the family, won't inherit the throne."
"Thank heavens for that," Steve said. "I don't think I'm really up to that kind of job."
"The big problem is that I don't know who will inherit. My failure to bear a daughter is causing a lot of unrest generally and I've been desperate to resolve it.
"A while ago," she continued, "I had a miscarriage, and my doctor has told me that was definitely the last baby I can ever conceive."
"So what," Steve asked, "am I doing here?"
She smiled again. "The sixty-four thousand pound question. Have you eaten by the way? I think we could do with a slight break before we continue."
***
"I need to bear a daughter of royal bloodline but cannot," Aunt Freddie continued some time later.
The five of them had eaten a pleasant meal, which the girls themselves had served. Indeed, it appeared to Steve there were no servants in the castle, a fact he found surprising. He would have thought a royal household would be brimming with them. But the meal had been appetising and tasty, and Steve had enjoyed it. After finishing it, he and Freddie had gone back to the Royal Chamber and continued their discussion.
"On the other hand," she continued, "as the son of my twin sister, you could conceive a child with one of these girls with a similar mixture of genes as a child conceived by Rudi and me. It's fortunate that you have inherited our strong family nose," (a feature Steve had always wished he did not have), "and they their father's rather ugly face.
Over dinner, Steve had already worked out which way the conversation would be looming, and had made up his mind.
"You mean," he said, "that you want me to marry one of my step-cousins, and quickly father a child. Well I can tell you..."
"No," Freddie said.
"What?"
"I said no, I don't want you to marry one of these three girls," Freddie said. "That would take far too long, and your first child might be a boy. In any case, the population wouldn't be satisfied, since the daughter needs to be mine, rather than that of my nephew, who is not in line to the throne."
"Well if you don't want me to marry one of these three girls," he said, "what am I doing here?"
"I want one of them to bear a daughter I can present as my own," she said. "Obviously, the mother will take the role of nursemaid and care for the baby, but the population will believe it is my child, and therefore, the natural heir to the throne.
"So I want you to make these three girls pregnant," she continued. "As soon as one of them is carrying a daughter, I will immediately announce to the world that I am pregnant, and start the equivalent of pushing cushions up my blouse - although there are actually far more sophisticated ways of pretending to be pregnant."
"Don't the girls have any say in this?" Steve asked, horrified that Freddie appeared to be giving them away like common prostitutes. "After all, they have only just met me. I'm more than thirteen years older than Angelika, and fifteen years older than Caterina."
"I've spoken to them all and they are agreeable," Freddie said. "Your age is immaterial; neither is your appearance nor prospects. What is important is that the first of them to have a daughter by you will be the mother of the future Queen of Molvania. An offer that no sensible woman could refuse."
Steve nodded. He was, he realised, being exceptionally pickity about an offer of sex with three, willing, busty teenagers - and presumably lots of it if they wanted to be the first to conceive. "I suppose I can understand that, but it certainly seems weird. Still, if they're happy..."
"You will be happy too," Freddie said. "Not only will you have unlimited sex with three teenage girls, I will also pay you fifty thousand pounds on the day that I "give birth" to a healthy daughter. Does that make you happy enough?"
"Tell me what I have to do."
"Most importantly, you agree to keep this matter secret forever. If you ever mutter a word to anyone, even after I'm dead, there'll be people who'll come looking for you. You will live here for the time being. All the servants have been sent elsewhere. All the food will be cooked in my own palace kitchen and then transported here, so no one else will see you; the girls will do what work is needed around the place. But that means there are only the four of you on this site. If the secret leaks out, it's one of you four who will be responsible. Do you understand?"
Steve indicated that he did understand. He could keep a secret without the need for threats, but he understood why Freddie felt it necessary to do so.
"Secondly, you'll stay around here until at least two, preferably three of the girls are carrying female foetuses."
"But what happens if they conceive a male baby?"
"In that case," Freddie replied, "their pregnancy will be terminated and you'll do your best to get them pregnant again."
"Terminated! Will they agree to that?"
"They already have done," Freddie said. "Remember, they want to give birth to the next Queen of Molvania. They won't do that if they spend a year bringing a boy into the world."
"Well what happens if they don't all become pregnant? One of them could be sterile." Steve didn't want to mention the fact that so might he.
"I want at least two of the girls carrying female babies," Freddie said, "so that if one pregnancy goes wrong there's a back up ready for me. Three would be preferable, but obviously, as you suggest, there could be complications. For example, two might become pregnant straightaway, whilst the other takes several months."
"Several months! You can't expect me to stay here for several months. I thought you were talking about a few weeks."
Freddie smiled. "The sooner you get them all pregnant, the sooner you can go home, so you'd better put everything you've got into achieving that."
Steve sighed. "Bloody hell!"
"One last thing. No one must know there's a man in this castle, otherwise someone is sure to smell a rat. Stay out of the way when the deliveries are brought in. The rest of the time, there's no problem as long as you stay indoors; if you want to go outside, remember that much of the grounds can be seen from a distance, or by planes coming into land at the airport. So only go into the grounds at night, and stay out of the floodlit areas."
You mean I'm imprisoned in here!" Steve gave her a horrified look.
"Oh for heavens' sake," Freddie stormed. "It's only during the day, and you'll be shagging the girls silly most of the time. Now is there anything else, or are you ready for me to hand over the keys?" She stood up, as a preparation for going back out to the ceremonial hall.
"Keys? What keys?" he said, following her out to the main chamber where the girls were waiting.
"Why," Freddie said, tossing a key ring with three keys towards him, "the key to the girls' chastity belts, of course."
"Yer-hooo!" Caterina yelled at the top of her voice. The other two wasted no time in shouting; they simply pounced on him and started tearing off his clothes. Freddie watched them for a few seconds, smiling, before gracefully leaving by the main entrance.
"Well," she said to the frog who was still sitting there, "I'm sewing my seeds in a rather different way to normal, but I think it's all going to work out nicely."
"C-r-r-r-r-o-o-o-a-a-a-k," said the frog, which in frog language meant, "You're sailing close to the wind. You'd better watch out."
CHAPTER 4
The next three days were like no other that Steve had ever experienced. Sure, he'd occasionally had flings with girlfriends; and once, at university he'd been invited to a party that turned into an orgy. But never had he been to a never-ending orgy.
What was remarkable was the carnal knowledge of the girls who had been virgins until now - the chastity belts had ensured that, and Steve had seen the evidence. But Freddie had taken the girls out of school and sent them for several months' instruction by an experienced "Madame'. Without any real practice at all, they were now Olympic standard sexual athletes!
Steve had never considered himself as having incredible staying power, but these girls seemed to have no trouble in making him climax continually, hour after hour, day after day, and night after night; each girl desperate to be the first to get herself pregnant.
Until the fourth day!
***
Caterina noticed first. She was the one who normally slept between his legs, her head resting on his thigh only inches from his groin. Her task was to awaken him with an erection every few hours, and each of the girls in turn would then service him.
But on that fourth morning, no amount of tongue or handiwork, by either her or the others could get him hard. The more they tried, the more ashamed and depressed Steve felt, which in itself made the task almost impossible. Finally, Angelika suggested that Steve patently needed a day off. No man could work continuously without a break, and that's exactly what Steve had been trying to do, she said. Indeed, it was more the girls' fault than his, since they shouldn't have pushed him so incessantly.
The other girls agreed. Caterina suggested it would be really fun to go for a picnic in the castle grounds by the stream. Even Steve cheered up at that and the girls contacted the kitchens at Freddie's palace and got them to prepare a picnic lunch.
***
"What have you done with my clothes?"
In the frenzy on that first night, Steve couldn't remember what had happened to his clothes. He guessed that one of the girls must have taken them and had them washed, ironed and repaired - he could remember one of the girls tearing several buttons off the front of his shirt - but surely they would have been returned from the palace laundry by now. In the meantime, he'd been wearing Angelika's satin dressing gown on the few occasions when he wasn't naked.
"I burn them," Beatrix said.
"Burnt them!" he spluttered. "What the hell for, and what am I going to wear?"
"No man here in castle, you remember? I cannot send man's clothes to be washed and made better at palace. Burning is best way get rid of them. I put on fire."
"As for what you wear," Angelika took over the response, "Queen say you must not be in garden in daylight. You could be seen from aircraft. Yes?"
Steve thought back to the spiel he'd been fed that first day. "Vaguely, yes. But you've all said it's OK for me to go out."
"Only if we disguise you."
"Disguise me? What sort of disguise?"
Both the girls smiled. "Come with us," Beatrix said. "We find something perfect for you."
***
"This is what Queen has ready for when she 'become pregnant'."
They had gone into the well-equipped medical centre, with its combined delivery/termination room and adjacent three-bedded ward, and then up the narrow spiral stairs into the tower above. There were several small, circular storage rooms - one above the other - with cupboards of medical supplies, racks of bedding and other paraphernalia.
Caterina had pulled open a drawer and extracted the garment. It was a bit like a flesh-coloured leotard, except that there were protruding nipples on the front, which made it look almost like the torso of someone's body.
Steve eyed it, suspiciously. "What is it?"
"Is pregnancy Torsolet," Beatrix said the unfamiliar words carefully. "Specially made to same colour of Queen's skin."
"It fits her like second skin," Caterina said. "You think she was naked."
"So what's the point..." Steve began.
"This is the point," Angelika said, pulling a length of plastic piping out of the drawer. "This end," she held up one end of the pipe, terminating in a small rubber cup, "fit onto nipple, this end onto tap. Fit to right nipple," she loosely held it against the nipple on the garment, "breasts inflate with water. Queen can be any size breast she choose."
"Put onto left nipple," Caterina said, and Angelika obligingly moved the rubber cup to the other nipple, "pouch on stomach inflated."
"Each week," Beatrix said, "she add more water to stomach pouch, and look more pregnant."
"Fantastic," Steve said. "But I thought we'd come up here to find a disguise for me. What else have you got in here? A gardener's uniform, or something like that?"
"Silly man," Caterina said.
"We show you disguise," Beatrix said.
Steve shook his head, as though someone had just told him something stupid. "But this is your Queen's pregnancy disguise kit. What do I get?"
"Is alright," Angelika said. "She buy several Torsolets at same time so no problem if one is damaged or wear out. You wear this one."
"But I don't want to look pregnant."
"We explain that," Beatrix spluttered, with mounting frustration at Steve's apparent denseness. "If you connect pipe only to right nipple, only breasts inflate."
"You mean," Steve was having trouble grasping the situation, not for the first time that week, "that you're expecting me to put that on and go outside pretending to be a naked woman?"
"Silly man," Caterina said again.
"Phew, thank heavens for that."
"You not go in grounds," Angelika said, "looking like naked woman - pregnant or not pregnant. We find you dress, and put on make-up. Also we have wig for you."
"What!"
"You have to look good woman," Beatrix said. "Else someone see you from plane and think you a man. They put together two and two."
"Unless you are a man," Angelika gave a glance down at his limp genitals before continuing, "and I see you not. You get ready for picnic."
"Anyway," Caterina said, "we think it be fun. Like dressing doll, only with real person. You enjoy too. Yes?"
***
It wasn't so much enjoyment, as an incredible sense of exhilaration, that Steve felt as he came out of the shower without a hair on his body. The hair removal cream they'd given him, (made from goats' milk they'd said, but he thought it was probably goats' piss) had been extremely effective.
"Look," Caterina said, staring at his erection, "he is cured. We have sex now, yes?"
"No!" Angelika snapped. "One quick fuck, he go limp. We agree we go for picnic. We do it."
A man shouldn't feel delighted to be denied a quick fuck, but for some reason, he was.
"Curiosity, really," he muttered to himself.
"What?" Angelika turned, holding the Torsolet in her hands, ready to pull it down over his head.
He smiled at her. "I'm curious what it will be like wearing that, with boobs sticking out, and... well, just simply looking like a woman."
"He curious as well." Caterina pointed downwards at Steve's prick, which was now rock solid and pointing at her.
"Hell!" Steve said. "What are we going to do about that? I'll never get the Torsolet over it."
"Cunt!" Caterina said.
"It's a perfectly reasonable question," Steve said, feeling rather wounded.
"No. Caterina mean the Torsolet is designed to fit man or woman." Beatrix held out the gusset of the Torsolet for inspection. It was clearly designed to contain his genitals, and she demonstrated the small vagina which was built in behind it.
"It give you cunt," Caterina said with great relish. "You able have sex with man."
"No men here' Beatrix said. "Steve cannot have sex with man."
"Steve does not want sex with man," Steve said. "I'm going to wear it just for disguise, and maybe I'm a bit curious. But there's no way I'm getting into the general proximity of a man, never mind having sex with him."
"Sex with good man F-A-N-T-A-S-T-C," Caterina said, rolling her eyes at him. "You be woman - maybe you enjoy too."
"Well it's hardly going to be the same, is it?" Steve said. "That's simply a plastic, er, cunt that goes between my legs. It won't feel fantastic for me."
"No, no, no, we not explain," Beatrix said. "Torsolet has thingy called Sensotouch."
"Skin of Torsolet like touch-sensitive computer screen," Angelika said. "Stroke on Torsolet," she lightly stroked the skin of the Torsolet, "passed to many electrodes touching your skin."
"You feel like it your own skin," Beatrix said.
"But more sensitive," Caterina said.
"And cunt is most sensitive of all," Beatrix said, holding up the false vagina to demonstrate.
"You're all crazy," Steve said, trying his hardest not to wonder what it would be like with a man's prick thrusting into an artificial cunt between his legs.
***
It appeared the instructions that came with the Torsolet were written in Hungarian. Since the girls' first language was Rumanian, Beatrix hesitantly read them whilst the others tried to make sense of what she said. There was an accompanying tub of red gel, which, she said, had to be smeared over Steve's torso prior to putting on the Torsolet, to prevent sweat rashes. So, Angelika put on a disposable plastic glove that came with the tub and smeared the gel all over Steve's torso.
It felt incredibly erotic to Steve, and once they had pulled the Torsolet over his head and down his body, it became clear that he had been absolutely right about the difficulties of fitting the Torsolet over his throbbing erection. Consequently, they decided that in spite of their earlier agreement, someone had to be chosen to relieve his tension.
Normally, there'd have been a squabble over who was to get first mating rights, but Caterina reckoned the other two always got more than she did, and they didn't challenge it. It was not the greatest of sexual gymnastics, lasting a little over three minutes, but at least Steve knew his equipment was working again, and Caterina got a small dollop of spunk, which if they did but know it, would make Caterina the first of the girls to become pregnant.
But Steve's prick had returned to its former floppy state, and he was able to feed it into the hole on the inside of the gusset without problems, and when Angelika pulled this firmly between his legs, it was clearly never going to be erect again until it had been released. As she tugged the gusset hard enough to fasten it to the matching bit at the rear, his balls were squeezed into oblivion, bringing water to Steve's eyes. Fortunately, by the time he'd got sufficient breath back to yell, the pain had disappeared and it all felt comfortable again.
"All men like large breasts, yes?" Beatrix said, fitting the one end of the piping to a tap. "You to?"
"He like large breasts," Caterina said. "He love ours."
"Actually," Steve confessed, "I do quite like large breasts, but better not make them too big, eh?"
"Every man need to know what big breasts like for woman," Angelika said. "We make breasts HUGE!"
"...and see how he enjoy them as woman," Caterina added.
"No girls, just normal kind of..."
His words were lost as they all pounced on him and held him down. Beatrix connected the pipe to the right nipple and turned on the tap, and let it run, and run, and run. Of course, the problem was that with Steve lying on his back, it was quite difficult for them to judge exactly how big his breasts were as they formed shapes like huge bell gongs on his chest.
It was not until he tried to sit up with two melons hanging down, they all realised just how big his tits actually were. They whistled and jeered at him in a way that was not dissimilar to the way that, when he'd been at school, a bunch of boys - not Steve, of course - had whistled and jeered at a particularly large-breasted girl. Only now did he realise how embarrassed he - that is, the other boys - had made her.
"OK, very funny. Can you let them down, now? Please?"
Beatrix looked at the instructions again, shook her head and pointed at a picture in the instructions. "No. You see - non-return valve." She quoted the words carefully, anxious not to get it wrong. "Pull cup off nipple," she gave a tug on the pipe and it came free, "water does not come out."
She was right; Steve's breasts remained melon-sized.
"Sorry, Steve," Angelika said. "Your breasts very large. Do not be upset. Only for few hours."
The other girls made similar apologetic noises.
"Well it won't do me any harm to carry these around for the day, and I guess I do deserve it."
"You not deserve it, Steve," Beatrix said, thinking that Steve wouldn't feel so magnanimous after he'd carried that colossal weight around for ten minutes. She smiled at him. "You very nice about our large breasts."
"Mmm," he replied, actually still feeling bad about that girl at school.
"To support your breasts," Angelika said, "you need good corset. Put on camisole to start."
"Corset!" Steve said with trepidation, as he obligingly allowed her to feed the cami over his head. He'd read lots of stories on the web about corseted women. "I don't need a corset."
"If you put on princess dress," Caterina said, "you need corset. Dress not fit properly without corset, and you not look like fairy-tale princess. We all wear corsets."
Steve tried not to gulp when she told him about looking like a fairy-tale princess. It really wasn't normal for a man to find that an incredibly erotic suggestion - was it? A dress, with puffed up sleeves and...
"For picnic, we dress properly," Beatrix said. "You must too."
Angelika was already wrapping a corset around his back and fastening the front busks, so it was too late for him to argue about it. But he would make damn certain they didn't tighten it too much.
CHAPTER 5
"But I can't breathe," Stephanie said.
"You still able to talk, Princess Stevie," Caterina said. "For that you must breathe."
"And I watch your breasts push out the top of your dress," Beatrix said. "They inflate like baboons."
"Balloons," Stephanie corrected.
"Do not walk quickly, Princess Stevie," Angelika said. "Princesses must walk at royal pace. You look better, and you not gasp for breath."
Beatrix and Angelika were carrying the picnic set between them. Steve had offered to do it, but the three girls looked at those enormous boobs and tried to imagine just how much energy it would take simply to climb up the valley side to the point where they intended to have their picnic - where a pretty stream emerged from the woods. Then they had declared that, since Stevie was a visiting princess, they would do all the work and she would be the guest.
Stephanie was glad to take Angelika's advice. She had heard of people training with weights in a rucksack, but never with breasts as heavy as dumbbells stuck to their chests. Already, in spite of the supporting corset, her back was aching, and her feet, were throbbing in her tight shoes with two-inch heels - the smallest heel, on the largest-size shoe in the castle.
But (and this was an incredibly big but) Princess Stephanie felt absolutely marvellous. The dress she was wearing was simply so beautiful - a peach-coloured chiffon dress over a wide bustle, which swept the ground as she walked. And with each pace, the Sensotouch system allowed her to feel her boobs bouncing in their bra undercups, and her nipples rubbing slightly against the fabric of the dress, and she could feel the soft breeze underneath her skirt, making her bare pussy feel cool, but so very sexy.
Even now, she couldn't really understand how she had got into this position. Steve had been having incredible sex with three, very willing, large-boobed teenagers - the kind of situation that every man dreams about. Then of its own free will, Steve's prick had decided it had had enough, and he had willingly gone along with being dressed in this most beautiful of dresses, and walking in the gardens with them. Definitely weird.
***
The picnic was great. The sky was bright and the sun was warm. They laid a blanket on the ground, and all four girls laughed and giggled when Stephanie first sat down, and the bustle pushed the front of the dress right up in the air, exposing her stocking tops and bare buttocks and pussy for all the world to see.
And it had to be admitted, that since the girls had such a wonderful view of most of Molvania from this elevated vantage point, presumably most of Molvania could also see them!
Just as their laughter was subsiding, Angelika pointed across the valley and said, "All people look with bipolars," which made them all laugh some more.
"Binoculars," Stephanie corrected.
The girls showed Stephanie how to sit down properly in a bustle, by lifting the dress from the rear before sitting, and gave her a few more tips on princess-like behaviour. The picnic had included a couple of bottles of excellent wine, and they had to finish those off, simply so that Stephanie could learn to hold the glass correctly!
It was just as they were finishing their meal that Angelika said, in a very small voice, "I think my period comes."
"Oh, Angelika, you poor kitten," Beatrix said.
"You pregnant next time," Caterina said.
"There'll be lots more opportunity for us to make babies," Stephanie said.
The three of them rallied around and offered support and comfort. After a few minutes, Angelika said she would go back to the castle and lie down for a while.
"We go for stroll in the woods?" Beatrix said, as soon as Angelika had gone out of earshot. "On this part of hillside, like in shop window. Nice and secluded in woods."
"Yes," Caterina agreed. "I ready for us be secluded."
So they got up and followed the path into the woods. After they'd gone only a few yards, Caterina said, "We secluded now. No need go further."
She pointed at a bench by the side of the path. "We sit here, yes? Stevie, you in the middle. We sit either side."
They followed her suggestion.
"I think Angelika is mean," Beatrix said, "to say no sex all day."
"She knew period coming," Caterina said. "She want to stop us while she not fertile. I think we should take opportunity." She was not to know that her opportunity had already been well and truly taken.
"But Stevie most important person," Beatrix said. "Stevie, you ready for sex?"
In fact, Stephanie had been feeling ready for it all through lunch. Every time she'd reached for a sandwich, her nipples had moved against the fabric of her dress, and given her a feeling that was so squiffy, she thought she might have a climax on the spot.
"Well, yes. But I'm a woman at the moment. Much as I'd like to..." Stephanie's words died on her lips as the other two slipped her dress off her shoulders and down her arms, and eased it over her enormous breasts.
When she'd been dressed this morning, there was clearly no corset in the castle into which her oversize breasts would fit, so Angelika had selected one with a simple undercup platform on which they could rest. With her dress lowered, those two enormities were exposed to the fresh air. So wonderful was the Sensotouch feature, that Stephanie could feel the breeze upon her nipples.
But not for long. With perfect synchronism, Beatrix and Caterina lowered their mouths to her nipples and sucked.
"Jeez!" Stephanie gasped. "That's just... A-a-a-h!"
"Nipples of Stevie very sensitive," Caterina said, coming up for a breath. "Much more than my nipples."
"Can vary Sensotouch," Beatrix said, as she, too, came up for air. "I set very high."
"Oh my God!" Stephanie, too, had to gasp a mouthful of air. "That's the most exquisite..." Her words were cut off as Beatrix and Caterina ducked their heads down to their task again. Never before had she been on the verge of an orgasm for more than a few seconds. Now the experience went on and on, for minute after precious minute.
"Cunt also important," Beatrix said. "You agree, Caterina?"
They lifted her skirt up over the hoops of the crinoline so that Stephanie could just see the unfamiliar shape of a hairless slit between her legs. Beatrix reached down and slipped a finger inside her cunt.
"Oooh!" Stephanie said.
"There is way," Beatrix said, as she fiddled around, "to let bud poke out... There!"
She withdrew her hand so they could all see what was happening.
Stephanie could feel movement between her legs - the kind of movement that no girl normally feels. As they all stared at her slit, so the tiny bud of her clitoris appeared. It grew larger as they stared at it - and larger, and started to emerge from its hiding point. It became the size of Stephanie's thumb, and still it steadily grew until it was not dissimilar to the shaftless head of a man's penis. Finally, it grew no more.
"It's stuck," Stephanie said in despair. "How do we get it completely out?"
"I sorry, Stevie," Beatrix said. "With this Torsolet, it make larger no more. No worry, is plenty for us."
She stood up, swivelled round to face Stephanie, and then lifted her own skirts to the waist and sat astride Stephanie's lap. With the two sets of skirts and hoops, further observation of their mutual point of interest was impossible.
"Caterina," Beatrix said, "Get on knees and look. You guide us come together."
Caterina did so, crouching between Stephanie's legs - practically beneath Beatrix's buttocks - and gave instructions. "Stevie, open wide the legs. More wide. That is right. Beatrix, fall down between legs of Stevie. Stevie, more wide. No, Beatrix, push close to Stevie. More close."
"Yes! Go on," Beatrix said.
Caterina put a hand onto Beatrix's bum and gave a helpful push, to press the two bodies together.
"That's it," Beatrix shouted. "Push harder. Harder."
Stephanie could feel her clitoris starting to penetrate Beatrix, but nothing like far enough for proper sex. She thrust her pelvis forward.
"Harder," Beatrix shouted. "Harder."
Caterina got off her knees, put both her hands onto Beatrix's bum and pushed as hard as she could. She shuffled her feet backwards, so she was leaning her entire weight against Beatrix, and thrust with all her might.
"Go on, Stevie," Beatrix screamed. "Push!"
Stephanie did, and she felt her clitoris pop between Beatrix's outer lips, but, she realised, she was never going to penetrate Beatrix properly whilst wearing the Torsolet. So near, yet so far! She felt despair creeping upon her.
"Stevie, harder," Caterina yelled.
Of course, Stephanie thought, I'm thinking about this as a man. Now I'm a woman, I don't need to penetrate Beatrix, only to rub my clitoris against Beatrix's clitoris, until we reach mutually satisfactory orgasms. She moved her body so that, instead of trying to push her clitoris inside Beatrix's vagina, she was simply bringing her clitoris into contact with Beatrix's.
"Oh! Y-e-e-s!" Beatrix shouted. "Oh, that is fucking good. Oh, my orgasm is coming! Oh yes. Y-e-e-e-s! Oh fuck me!"
With those final words, Stephanie felt an explosion happening somewhere deep inside herself, which came surging outwards, through the only outlet open, pumping buckets of semen (did girls have semen, Stephanie wondered) into Beatrix's cunt.
"Y-e-e-e-s-s!" Stephanie gasped
"Y-e-e-e-s-s!" Beatrix screamed.
"Y-e-e-e-s-s!" thought that tiny spermatozoa spurting into Beatrix's vagina, and racing against all the others to be the first to the prize - the only prize that mattered. And it was!
CHAPTER 6
It was almost four o'clock before they awoke from a slumber, returned to the picnic area, packed up their things and went back to the castle. It was fortunate they didn't leave it any later, for just as they were entering the castle courtyard, and Stephanie was saying hello to the frog - much to the amusement of the other girls - the drawbridge lowered, the portcullis lifted and the royal Rolls Royce swept in.
Angelika came out of the castle to greet the Queen, as they approached the door. She curtsied, and the two spoke together before they both turned to watch the princesses walk over to them. The three girls curtsied - one a little clumsily, and Angelika said, "Your Majesty. Allow me to present Princess Stephanie."
The smile on Freddie's face froze and hostility flashed across her face. "How dare you! You must all be drunk!" She stared hard at Stephanie and said, "You! I want to speak to you now."
"Yes your Majesty." For the first time, Steve (definitely not Stephanie) had not referred to her as his Aunt Freddie.
***
"So, you're not as ignorant as you made out, are you?"
Steve (and definitely not Stephanie) didn't know what she was talking about, but he had recovered his composure in the half minute it had taken to walk into the Royal Chamber.
"I'm sorry?" This time he didn't call her Majesty, but he felt it definitely unwise to call her Aunt Freddie. "I don't know why you're cross with me."
"So why did Angelika call you Princess Stephanie?"
"But Aunt... Your Majesty, I know you had told me not to venture outside, but we did think that disguising me as another princess would be a fairly innocuous way for me to get some relaxation outside, without arousing anyone's suspicions."
"I realise that now," she said. "Angelika told me, and I thought it was quite an inventive solution, in spite of those ridiculous breasts, but why did you call yourself that name?"
Steve couldn't work out what she was getting at. "The girls said it would sound silly, continuing to call me Steve or Stephen. Stephanie was the female equivalent."
"Oh!" She sounded surprised, but then added, with extremely bad grace, "Yes, I suppose I should have thought of that."
She paused for a few more seconds, thinking, and then said, "I suppose I had better explain. But remember, I have never told anyone else in Molvania about this, so if it leaks out, you're the one I shall blame."
She said the words with such an evil grimace that Steve felt a shudder pass down his spine.
***
" Charlotte - your mother - and I met your father, Stephen, at university, and we both fell for him in a big way. It was the late sixties, and free love was everywhere, so what was more natural than that twins should share the man they both love. We continued the open relationship for a few years after we left university, until Charlotte got pregnant.
"She insisted upon marriage, and both your father and I were happy about that, assuming that it wouldn't change our threesome relationship. It did. Charlotte wanted monogamy, and made things so difficult that I moved out."
She gave a shrug. "I didn't see why your mother should have sole rights to your father simply because she was careless enough to get pregnant. So your father and I secretly continued our relationship and it went on for another five years or so, until I, too, became pregnant. When Charlotte discovered who the father was she blew her top. We had an argument that we never made up. I moved away to make a new life with my baby daughter, whom I named Stephanie."
"Oh!" The silence between them lengthened. She had clearly said on their first meeting that she needed a daughter to inherit her reign, and Steve was frightened to ask the obvious question.
"Stephanie died of cot death when she was only three months old."
"Oh Aunt, I'm so sorry." In spite of her previous hostility, Steve felt impelled to go over to her and give her a hug. "I simply never realised."
"Of course you didn't, but when Angelika introduced you as Princess Stephanie I thought your mother must have told you about her, and you were making a game of pretending to be her. I made a wrong assumption, when I should have remembered that both Charlotte and I named our children after the same father."
She looked at her watch. "The others will be wondering what's going on. Let's go back to them, and," she gave an evil scowl, "don't mention what I've just told you, or else."
Steve nodded. He could keep a secret without threats, but a threat from Freddie certainly concentrated the mind.
***
"Incidentally," Freddie asked him as they were re-entering the main chamber, "Why do you have such ridiculously large breasts. Don't they make your shoulders ache terrible."
"It's absolute hell," Steve said.
"Then why did you inflate them so large?"
"It was our fault, your Majesty," Angelika said, coming into the conversation. "We make the fool of Steve. We make the breasts big. Then we could not let them down."
Freddie turned on Steve. "Didn't you read the instruction manual? That tells you precisely how to reduce the size of the breasts. It's quite easy." So easy, her tone dismissive tone implied, that even an imbecile like Steve could do it.
"Hardly," Steve replied. "It was written in Hungarian, so I left it to Beatrix."
Freddie sniggered, rather cruelly Steve thought. "Beatrix is hardly a master of Hungarian. In any case, there are only a few basic, very badly translated paragraphs in Hungarian. If you'd bothered to look in the next drawer along, you'd have found the full instruction manual in English."
"You're kidding me!"
Freddie irately shook her head. "I'm not in the habit of kidding anyone. The Torsolet comes from an English company, and their manual is excellent, so it's a pity you didn't bother to read it. Anyway, I suppose there's no harm done, just as long as you didn't use the gel."
There was a moment of silence, which stretched into several seconds.
Freddie looked at them all, shocked incredulity on her face. "You didn't use the gel, did you?"
"Aunt, it said something in the manual about preventing sweat rashes," Steve said.
"Oh you stupid imbeciles. Don't you realise what you've done? Yes, you're right, Steve, it does prevent sweat rashes. But it does so by bonding the Torsolet to the skin and sealing the sweat glands. You're stuck in that thing now for the best part of two weeks. You have completely blown the whole project."
"No," Beatrix said. "We have sex in woods, no problem."
Freddie looked to Steve for confirmation. "Is that right, Steve?"
Steve wouldn't exactly have described their sexual union as no problem, but given the look on Freddie's face, he thought it best not to admit it.
"Sure," he said. "The three of us had sex in the woods after Angelika left us. It was great."
Freddie still looked suspicious, but fortunately she decided not to challenge them further, and instead changed the subject. "I shall be going away next week to Brussels. I'm meeting with the European Parliament."
"That sounds very impressive aunt," Steve said, trying to lighten the tension.
She turned to Beatrix and Caterina, and said, "Your periods should start Monday, is that right? "
They both nodded.
"Well, I'm not leaving until Wednesday," she said, "so we should know one way or another by then. I'm hoping I shall be able to make an announcement about my pregnancy to the European Parliament."
Beatrix and Caterina both nodded warily, probably not following her English. Stephanie thought it highly probable the parliament would not be overly interested in the monarch of a non-EU state, but thought it diplomatic not to voice his opinion.
"It was bad luck about your period this time, Angelika," Freddie said in a sudden mood of magnanimity, and then spoilt it by adding, "so you'd better try a damn lot harder next month."
Angelika smiled and quietly said, "Thank you, your Majesty."
***
"Wow," Stephanie said as soon as the Queen had left. "What rattled her cage?"
"She angry my period come," Angelika said.
"Angelika, you know. She always angry like that," Beatrix said. She turned to Stephanie. "How you see her last week, all smile and she talk funny English..."
"You mean Cockney?" Stephanie asked.
"Yes, that is it," Beatrix said. "She talk funny to make friendly with you. Normally, she never smile."
"She evil witch," Caterina said.
"Then why did you agree to give her a daughter?" Stephanie asked.
The three exchanged glances, and Angelika said something in their own language, then she turned to Stephanie. "Queen say she lose baby because my father give her bad seed. He guilty of treason. If we not do as she says, he will be head chopped. She take all his money and our house. We have nowhere to go."
"That is evil," Stephanie said. "I can't go ahead with this knowing that. I'll tell her..."
Beatrix interrupted. "She said, even if no babies with you, we still use our sex training. We earn money with men on streets to buy food for our brother and sisters. She very evil."
"We hope that our babies be like you, Stevie," Caterina said, "not like her. We have lovely babies if like you."
Stephanie looked at the three of them, sickened at the position they had been put in by her mother's twin sister. "Then we better make more babies," she said.
CHAPTER 7
Stephanie managed to find the instructions for the Torsolet written in English, and studied them at length. Freddie had been perfectly correct in saying that the gel was a powerful adhesive that was permanently bonded to the skin, and it would only come off when the outer layer of skin was shed. If they had only known, they could have used a different gel around the penis to allow it to fully emerge to serve its proper purpose, but they had not, and Stephanie had been lucky to be able to take things as far as she had.
She did, however, manage to reduce her breast size, although the girls insisted that since she was quite large for a woman, she should have boobs to match. Which meant that she still ended up with boobs far larger than she thought necessary, but she gave in with good grace. After all, she only had breasts for a few weeks - the girls had them for life.
In fact, sex in the Torsolet proved to be so problematical that after a few attempts they decided to cut out the intercourse, and simply milk Stephanie for her semen. Each girl went to work on a breast or clitoris, frantically licking until Stephanie squirted her semen into a small bowl. The girls carefully divided it between them, and then they improvised the final operation with a piece of plastic tubing. Each sucked up the semen from the bowl into the tube (taking care not to suck too hard!) and then inserted the tube deep inside them, and gently blew it out.
The whole operation worked out rather well, so that was the way their sexual relations continued for the next few days. Stephanie felt she should have been upset at failing to have proper sex with the girls, but for some reason she felt perfectly happy that they were able to take her milk and use it.
As Monday approached - the day that Beatrix and Caterina were both due to start their periods - everyone was in a state of nervousness. To their absolute delight nothing happened, and as the day wore on, nothing continued to happen!
Tuesday morning, Freddie arrived. As soon as she heard their news, she was on top of the world. Her previous bad mood might never have been there. She immediately went back to the palace and returned an hour later with the royal doctor.
A few minutes with each, and he confirmed that Beatrix and Caterina were both pregnant! However, he would need to take samples and send them to the laboratory for pregnancy sex testing.
First thing next morning, Freddie arrived clutching a champagne bottle, and proclaiming that Beatrix had a female foetus inside her! She pushed the champagne bottle into Angelika's hands, and told her to open it and get pouring - none for Beatrix of course - clearly she had to be thoroughly cosseted from now on.
"What about Caterina, Aunt?" Stephanie asked. "Have you had her results?"
"Oh, yes," she said, in the same sort of tone she might have used to discuss the weather. "Caterina has a male foetus. The doctor will come around this afternoon to perform the abortion."
Caterina immediately burst into tears.
"Don't cry, child," she said, without a trace of pity. "This will only put you out of the running for a few weeks. And you never know your luck, Beatrix's daughter could easily be miscarried or deformed, so there's still hope for you and Angelika to win the race. It's an ill wind, as they say... Beatrix, Why on earth are you crying, now? You're pregnant with a female, for God's sake."
She simply could not understand why no one wanted champagne on such a joyful occasion, and no one felt able to try to explain.
"Well if you're not going to open that champagne, Angelika, give it back to me," she eventually said. "I'm flying to Brussels this morning, so I might as well celebrate by myself, rather than with you miserable lot. I really don't understand any of you." And she stormed outside.
She took the driver by surprise, and he had to hurry round to open her door for her.
"For God's sake, get a move on. We can go straight to the airport, now."
Unfortunately, the driver didn't understand English, so she had to repeat it in Rumanian, which annoyed her even more.
"C-r-r-r-o-o-a-a-k," went the frog.
"And fuck you," Freddie said, stamping on it.
Actually, she stamped on the spot where it had been sitting an instant before. Fortunately, frogs have lightning reactions, and the instant before her foot reached the ground, it had leapt forward two feet. Freddie could have swore the thing croaked, "And fuck you too," but that may have been her imagination.
Actually, that was exactly what the frog had said, and for a few seconds it felt extremely mean towards Freddie, queen or no queen. But it wasn't a malevolent frog, and knowing how powerful a frog wish is, it decided it really ought to recant it.
It was just on the point of doing so, when the car moved, and the frog was sandwiched between five tons of armoured Rolls Royce and the granite slabs of the courtyard.
Some day perhaps, a frog will survive such a situation, and it will be able to tell all the other frogs, "Whatever you do, don't take cover underneath a car, particularly wedged beneath those large, round, black things which keep the car off the ground." Unfortunately, no frog has ever been able to relay that message, and our frog died before it could retract its deadly wish.
CHAPTER 8
Three days later, things were starting to return to a kind of normality - although quite different to what it had been before. Only Angelika was now milking Stephanie, as Caterina had aborted her baby and the doctor had told her to avoid becoming pregnant for a few weeks. Privately, she decided to give it a week and then get going again!
They all agreed that the really good thing about those few days was that with Freddie in Brussels, they could relax, and not worry about her pouncing in on them. So they were all totally gob smacked when the entrance door suddenly crashed open one evening and a young man walked in - about sixteen or seventeen years old, Stephanie guessed.
He greeted the girls in Rumanian, then turned to stare at Stephanie, and added something, to which the girls replied.
"This, our brother, Andrei," Angelika explained to Stephanie. "He has important news of family."
"Hello Andrei," Stephanie said, nodding at him. "In that case, I'll leave you to talk alone."
"No," Angelika said. "He say you stay."
"OK." Stephanie said, thinking that it was all the same to her since she wouldn't understand a word of their Rumanian conversation. Andrei smiled at her in a pleasant way, no doubt, Stephanie thought, ogling her boobs.
She was wrong about not picking anything up. With the boy's first sentence, the girls all gasped in horror, clasped their hands to their mouths, and then looked at each other, and particularly at Beatrix, who appeared as though she was about to burst into tears.
"Queen go to special doctor in London," Angelika told Stephanie. "He tell her she have the cancer of the boob. She very bad. She not live long."
"Oh my God!" Stephanie said. It was not just the shock of losing an aunt whom she'd only just been reunited with, but it meant their entire plan would have to be abandoned, leaving Beatrix pregnant with his, Steve's, child.
"Why she wait to see doctor in London?" Caterina asked. "We have good doctors in Molvania. They would find cancer months ago."
"What about my..."
Beatrix's wail was sharply interrupted by Angelika. "Do not say the word. We talk later about it."
She was right. The boy probably knew a few words of English, and "baby' might well be one of them - a word which should have no part in their current discussion.
"What is Aunt..." Stephanie stopped herself just in time. That was another word which should not be used alongside the next word she had been going to say. "What is the Queen doing now? Is she staying in Brussels for her talk to the EU?"
Caterina asked the question of the boy, and gave Stephanie his answer. "No, she return home now. She must give news to people."
The boy added something, and Caterina translated, "Andrei needs to see you in private. He has message from Queen."
"Well he's going to have difficulty giving me a message," Stephanie said, "when he can't speak a word of English."
Beatrix translated again. "He says, message written. A private message."
"OK," Stephanie said. "I suppose we'd better go into the Royal Chamber."
Beatrix translated and the boy gave a little grimace - as though nervous of what he had to do - rapidly walked over to the door to the Royal Chamber, opened it, and then stepped back with a smile, a bow and a sweep of his arm, to indicate that Stephanie should precede him.
Stephanie was surprised. She wasn't used to having men opening doors for her - indeed, neither were most women in Britain, particularly by sixteen-year-old boys. She realised that being a woman in Molvania had certain advantages she hadn't thought of before. She smiled at him and went over to the door, and said, "Thank you," as she went through.
It was only when he had followed her in and she heard him lock the door, she had some reservations. She turned smartly around, to find him rapidly bearing down on her, his hands reaching forward to grasp her tits.
"Now hold on," she said, stepping backwards as quickly as her heels would allow, and throwing up her hands to block his.
But his hands were no longer where she thought they were going. Instead, he had bent forward and grasped the lowest hoop on her bustle and pulled it up and towards him. She was in mid-backward stride as the rear of the hoop caught her at the back of the ankle. With her body moving backwards, and unable to put her foot onto the ground behind her, she fell heavily to the rear and hit the solid floor with a thud that knocked the wind out of her.
Even without that, she probably wouldn't have stood a chance of avoiding what happened next, for Andrei was now pushing the front of the hoop away from him, past her chin, past her eyes and over the top of her head. Only then did he force it down on the floor, his entire weight on top of it, with Stephanie's torso trapped beneath her dress. Even worse, his knees were between her naked legs, his body lying on top of her, and she could even feel him reaching down to fumble with his fly.
"Fuck off, you shit!" she shouted, her voice muffled by her dress and petticoats. "Rape! Rape!"
It didn't make any difference. She could feel something rubbing against her pussy lips - something hot and hard - and it was starting to thrust against her slit.
***
When Stephanie had first been given a vagina, she expected that she'd spend lots of time exploring it and playing with it. In fact, with the girls milking her so frequently, she'd hardly had time to do more than slip a finger inside and play a little. She'd been astounded that the Sensotouch was so responsive that just a light stroke with a fingertip produced a feeling inside her that was divine.
But now, that very sensitivity turned Andrei's amateurish attempts at fucking her into an excruciating nightmare. It was bad enough when he was trying to force his way through her lips, but as soon as he penetrated her, it was like having a chain saw shoved inside.
"U-u-u-u-g-h!" she yelled. "You bastard, get off me."
Needless to say, it didn't make any difference whatsoever. In fact, now he was getting the hang of it, his thrusts were getting harder.
But Stephanie also was getting used to it, and the pain seemed to lessen - in fact, the feeling seemed to seamlessly change so that it was no longer pain but a collection of strange but vivid sensations which felt - well, different - it might even be said, marvellous. With every thrust, her boobs were wobbling and her nipples erotically rubbing against her dress. Was it possible she was leading towards an orgasm?
"No," she gasped
"Fuck good," Andrei said.
Oh, so he does speak some English, Stephanie thought. "Fuck hard," she replied, then she was cursing herself for saying it. How could she have?
Andrei obviously understood sufficient to realise he no longer had to use sheer force to continue restraining her, and he lifted the hoop and pulled it off her face, and down her body so he could see her boobs shuddering beneath her dress. He let go of the hoop and grabbed her dress with both hands, tearing it apart to get at her tits.
But instead of the gentle caress of a more caring lover, he grabbed her nipples and screwed them cruelly between fingers and thumb.
It was sufficient to push Stephanie over the edge.
"A-a-a-g-g-h!" she screamed, and she tightened her legs around his back (how on earth had they got there?) to squeeze him more deeply inside her.
"Fuck good! Fuck good! FUCK G-O-O-O-O-D!" he roared, ejaculating inside her.
So good was the Sensotouch that Stephanie could feel his spunk filling her pussy, and then squelching down around his penis and dribbling out of her lips as he withdrew his cock.
"Fuck good," he repeated, standing up and zipping up his fly. "Fuck good."
He went over to the door, unlocked it and left.
CHAPTER 9
"Stevie? You stay in here?"
About a minute had passed since Andrei had gone out of the Royal Chamber and presumably left the castle. Angelika had come looking to see why Stephanie had not emerged. She found her still lying on the floor where Andrei had raped her, her breasts hanging out of her torn dress, and with her skirts still lying across her midriff, her legs and vagina were fully exposed,.
"Stevie!" she screamed, running over to her. "You alright? He rape you?"
Stephanie nodded. "Sort of."
The others, alerted by Angelika's scream, came running in. A rapid conversation in Rumanian took place.
"My brother do this? I kill him," Beatrix said.
"He shit. I cut off his bits, and make him eat them," from Caterina.
"You tell us what happen?" Angelika asked.
Stephanie nodded. "Help me sit up, first."
There really wasn't much to tell that they couldn't guess. It was, after all, not a novel tale, although a completely new experience for Stephanie.
"I guess I was a bit stupid allowing myself to get trapped in the room, like that," she said. "I simply didn't expect it. After all, he's only a boy."
"He is sixteen years," Caterina said, "older than..."
"Enough years to know wicked," Angelika cut in. "No excuse."
"The Queen is going to be furious," Stephanie said. "She will..."
Her words ceased on her lips as a sudden silence filled the room. "What's wrong? What did I say?"
"We not tell Queen," Angelika said. "We cannot."
"But why not?" Stephanie said. "Surely, she..."
"In Molvania, punishment for rape is as I say," Caterina said. "They cut off men's bits."
"Castration," Stephanie said horrified, and wincing at the mere thought. "You can't be serious."
"They used to execute; now they castrate," Angelika said. "Which you prefer?"
"I'm not certain," Stephanie replied. "But I can see that changes things about Andrei, and why you don't want me to report it. After all, I suppose that apart from tearing my lovely dress, there's no harm done. It's hardly as though I'm going to become pregnant."
"Maybe," Beatrix said rather slyly, "Stevie enjoy sex with man, even if rape."
They all looked at Stephanie to watch her reaction. She blushed!
"Ah-ha, Stevie," Caterina said. "You like man in cunt. Yes?"
"No!" Stephanie said. "I mean, I don't like men, but the act itself - it was different. A novelty, if you like."
"You orgasm, Stevie?" Beatrix asked.
Stephanie blushed some more.
"So," Angelika said, "we worry no more about rape. Instead, we worry about news of Queen."
"Hell," Stephanie said, "I'd forgotten about that. What shall we do?"
***
As Freddie would have said if she was there, that was the sixty-four thousand pound question, although there didn't appear to be a lot of options.
"Without Queen to take baby as her own, I not want baby with no husband," Beatrix said.
She saw the look on Stephanie's face as she took in the implications, and added, "No. I not want Steve as husband. Too old for me. I take young man - but not yet. I give up baby."
"Look," Stephanie said. "Freddie is returning shortly. We don't know how long she might live. There may be time for her to "give birth" to your baby. There's really no point in trying to make a decision now."
"But Queen may say she live for year," Beatrix said. "She may die after six month. Where am I then?"
It was a good question which no one could answer. Privately, they all thought that the Queen would do as she chose, regardless of the risks it posed for Beatrix. However, since Beatrix was stuck in the castle and certainly couldn't arrange her own termination, there was nothing they could do anyway until Freddie returned.
CHAPTER 10
"Why such miserable faces?"
No one could have told by looking that Freddie had been diagnosed with terminal breast cancer. She came striding in the next afternoon, with all the appearance of having just returned from holiday.
"Your Majesty." The three girls went into their normal curtsey, and then spoke to her rapidly in Rumanian.
"Silence!" she commanded. "Now, we agreed we would speak here in English for the benefit of our visitor."
"We are so very sorry..." Angelika's commiserations were cut short by Freddie.
"Haven't got time for all that crap. Now," she turned to Stephanie, "I need to speak with you, privately."
Stephanie followed her into the Royal Chamber, thinking that Freddie should really have spoken to Beatrix first, to reassure her. But then, reassurances were rarely top of Freddie's agenda. Stephanie closed the door on the three girls, thinking of the last time she had come inside the Royal Chamber.
"Right, you've obviously all heard the news," Freddie said. "The best estimate is that I have one to two months left to live, and," she raised a hand as Stephanie tried to cut in, "that means we have to revert to Plan B."
"Plan B?"
"I always have a Plan B ready," Freddie said. "In this case, I suspected the worst, so I paid extra attention to it."
"What is Plan B?"
"I think you've already met Andrei?" Freddie said.
"Yes, he..."
"I told him to come round and get to know you. I'm glad he's on the ball. Right, I'm going to announce that I have been reunited with my long-lost daughter, Stephanie, given up for adoption because I was a single mother."
"But I thought you told me," Stephanie said, "that your real daughter had died. I mean, it's great news that she's still alive..."
"You are incredibly stupid, sometimes," Freddie interrupted. "God knows how you're going to cope when you're queen. Yes, strictly between you and me, my daughter is dead, but that also provides us with an excellent opportunity. To the rest of the world, I will announce that you are my daughter, and you will inherit the throne when I die."
"But," Stephanie gasped, reeling with the impact of what Freddie was proposing, "you can't get away with that. There'll be records of your daughter's death, and..."
"After Stephanie was born, I went to live in France for a while. Stephanie was born in England and died in France, twenty-five years ago - no one will make the connection."
"But I couldn't run a country," Stephanie said.
Freddie nodded in agreement. "Not on your own, no. But I want you and Andrei to get married, and you will give him a baby - actually, you'll give him Beatrix's baby, but he's not to know that. The marriage will have to be arranged very quickly of course, but we'll make the excuse that I haven't got long to live..."
"No fucking way!" This time it was Stephanie who did something others had rarely done - interrupted the queen.
"I beg your pardon."
"Freddie, Andrei is a young boy - a male. There is no way I am going to marry him. Full stop. That's it. No argument. I refuse. Do you understand?"
Freddie spoke extremely quietly, which according to the girls was when she was at her most dangerous. "No! Do you understand, Steven? The future of an entire state is relying upon you. Twenty-two thousand people who need a monarch to lead them..."
"But I've told you, I can't lead a state, Aunt." Again Stephanie had interrupted her. "You were a Chief Executive of a local authority; I'm a web designer - a techie. I can't be a king, or a queen."
"Andrei is the only one of Rudi's children for whom I have any respect," Freddie said. "He's got his head screwed on, and he's not afraid to be ruthless when necessary."
Like when he wanted to "know" me better, Stephanie thought, but did not put into words.
"If you marry Andrei, he can do all the necessary day-to-day work. You would only need to let him get on with it."
"He's only sixteen," Stephanie said. "He can't run a country."
"There's no choice," Freddie said. "I don't have a Plan C. He's the only option."
"Well, you'll have to find another option," Stephanie said, "because I'm not marrying him."
"I'm sorry you've adopted that attitude," Freddie said, "because I really did not want to explain what your other option is."
"My other option is that I go home," Stephanie said.
"I'm afraid not," Freddie said. "You see, there's the little matter of you having sex with my stepdaughters. I invited my nephew into my home, and he has sex with all three, and impregnates two of them."
"But you asked me to..." Stephanie stopped as realisation dawned. "Oh, I see. You'll deny it. But even so, it's not against the law, even in this God-forsaken country, to have sex between consenting adults."
"Precisely. There's barely eleven months between each of Rudi's oldest children. Andrei is sixteen, going on seventeen, Angelika is fifteen, and Beatrix and Caterina are both fourteen - in fact, Caterina had her fourteenth birthday a few days before you arrived. So how does it feel to be a child fucker?"
"What! You're kidding me! They told me that Angelika was eighteen and Caterina was sixteen."
"My stepdaughters do not lie, which obviously means that you're lying. We'll see who the court believes - the queen's stepdaughters, speaking under oath, or the man who got them pregnant."
"With you putting pressure on them," Stephanie said. "You'll tell them they either say what you want them to or else their dad gets chopped." "
"Don't be silly. That doesn't go on here."
Stephanie knew she wasn't going to win that argument, so she tried another. "But the girls all look like mature young women. Their breasts are huge..."
Stephanie stopped, suddenly aware of her own Torsolet.
Freddie smiled, "So are yours. Of course, you realise that since they're minors, they cannot give permission to have sex, so that means you're raped them. In Molvania, the punishment for rape is..."
"Oh God! I know," Stephanie said.
"Andrei is sitting in my car," Freddie said. "Shall I bring him in? Then he can propose to you properly."
CHAPTER 11
Nine Months Later
Since becoming Queen, Stephanie had worn many beautiful and expensive items of jewellery, she had lived in a palace filled with antique furniture, surrounded by valuable paintings by famous masters, but never before, absolutely never before, had she ever held anything as precious or as beautiful.
OK, Princess Fredericka definitely had her nose, but it went so well with Beatrix's square jaw that it looked a match made in heaven. It was slightly spoilt at that moment as Fredericka puckered her face and made as though she was about to cry.
"Don't cry, my darling," Stephanie said. "This is what you want." She held Fredericka against her breast and slipped a nipple into her mouth. Immediately, the puckered face turned into one of happiness, and she smiled contentedly as she sucked.
Stephanie, also, felt incredibly contented at these moments. She was so glad they had managed to get the company that made the Torsolet to produce a modified version, with a system for feeding sterile milk to her baby. It was working perfectly - there was a detachable nipple complete with sterile balloon behind it, which sat inside her breast. They would connect a breast pump between Beatrix's breast and her own, and transfer the milk into the balloons inside. Fortunately, Beatrix had developed large breasts during pregnancy - almost as big as the false ones she had first worn - which meant there was always ample milk for Fredericka.
It was also good that Beatrix understood why it would never do for her to be seen feeding the baby - someone might just make an association and start a vicious rumour. As it was, Beatrix was happy to be the doting nursemaid, looking after the child as she would her own.
Happily, Andrei was simply not interested in parenthood, and was perfectly content that his sister was willing to devote so much of her time to looking after the royal child. With proper training though, he had made an excellent lover, and far from hating it, as she had initially expected, Stephanie had come to adore the nightly sessions that went on for hours. What it was to have a younger man for a husband!
Angelika was now, of course, of age, and was happy to bear Stephanie's next daughter. They had planned to wait a month after Fredericka's birth, and then start trying. Caterina had made it clear she could hardly wait until she was of legal age before she, too, bore a daughter for Stephanie. Queen Stephanie was determined that, never again, would the population be worried about the absence of a royal bloodline.
Andrei was managing the affairs of state very satisfactorily, and Stephanie did little except keep a watching eye upon him. Molvania seemed to be doing better now than ever before. It was surely only a matter of time, she thought, before they would be allowed to join the EU.
Stephanie thought back, as she often did, to the last conversation she'd had with Freddie. It had been in the medical centre in the castle, where Freddie ended her days.
***
"How are you feeling, mother?" (They had agreed they should always address each other as mother and daughter, rather than aunt/nephew.)
"Like shit. How do I look? Can't you think of anything more sensible to say."
"Is there anything you want me to do for you?"
"Yes there is."
Stephanie had expected another rude response, as was the norm with her visits to Freddie. That's why they were growing less frequent.
"What is it you want?"
"They've reduced my painkillers. They say that if I slip into unconsciousness, my body will simply collapse and I'll die within days."
"I'll get the painkillers increased again."
"Don't be a silly cow! I want you to end my pain immediately. Switch off my life-support machine and let me go quickly. Please."
It was the first time Stephanie had ever heard her use the P-word, and she was moved by it. Personally, she had no problems with the morals of such an act - she had never been able to understand why it was humane to put a dying dog out of its misery, but not humane to do the same for a human. But she did have to consider the implications to the monarchy of the only heir killing the reigning monarch.
"One of these do-gooders, are you, who think God will be cross with them? Well, I'll tell you something, and after that, you'll be only too glad to switch off the machine."
"Tell me what?" Stephanie asked. She had made up her mind: she would do it. Afterwards, she would switch everything back on, so there was no need for anyone to know. Even if the doctor suspected, she thought she could count on him to cover her back.
"If we'd gone through with Plan A, you'd have been executed by now."
"What!"
"You knew too much, you see. I could never have rested easy knowing the whole future of Molvania relied upon you keeping stum for the rest of your life. So, as soon you had all three girls carrying daughters, you'd have been for the chop."
"But people in England would have asked questions about me."
"No one there knew you were in Molvania. I told the solicitor that you'd returned home next day, and I gave your house keys to someone who does 'jobs' for me in England, and told him to clear your house and tell the landlord you'd moved away."
"The girls would know."
"Well obviously, they had to be executed as well, along with any unwanted babies they produced. They were far more a security risk than you."
Stephanie could not believe what she was hearing. "You'd kill the young mother of the child you called your own, and her pregnant sisters and any unwanted babies!"
"Now will you switch off my life-support?" Freddie asked, smiling.
Stephanie hesitated. "Of course I would - if I believed in heaven and hell - because there's no doubt where you'd go. But I don't. There's only one place where you'll find hell, and that's here, in this ward, as you wait to die. Goodbye, Aunt - I really can't call you mother anymore."
On the way out, Stephanie spoke with the doctor and told him to make certain the Queen lived as long as possible. All painkillers were to be stopped.
"Absolutely, your highness. I do exactly as you command. The Queen will be in much pain, and we make her as uncomfortable as possible."
The doctor's English was little better than the girls, it seemed to Stephanie. Surely he had said they would make her "uncomfortable".
Then the doctor winked at her and added, "I overhear your talk - accidentally, of course. But we doctors and nurses also know too much. We were for the head chopping, as well."
When five month pregnant cousin Jessica needs a stand in, Joshua is both shocked and exhilarated she should ask him. No self respecting man would take on such a thing, but a cousin in need...
Author's Note: All people, places and events in this story are entirely fictitious (apart from Croydon, which is a real town). Any connection you may make with any person, living or dead, is between you and your conscience. This story is a light-hearted crossdressing romp, and contains items such as humour and non-explicit sex between consenting adults. If any of those offend you or are illegal to read, then please do not do so. Otherwise, sit back and enjoy.
I'm going to have Ronald Fluck's baby.
Well, not really, of course, for two very good reasons: the first is that I've never had sex with him; the second… well, the second reason is that I'm the wrong sex to carry any baby. You see, it all started when my mother rang me up one evening.
"Hello love. Any success on the job front, yet?"
I was a computer support engineer, made redundant from one of the big UK banks, and had been seeking a job for so long it seemed I was never going to work again.
"Fraid not, Mum. How are things?"
"I had a letter from Jessica, today. She's pregnant."
Jessica Jones was my cousin, a few years older than my twenty-six.
Oh, that's good news," I replied. "But to be honest, I didn't know she was in a relationship with anyone."
"Neither did I," Mum pointedly said. "She wants to meet up with us on Friday. Are you free to come down for the weekend?" Mum – Harriett Jones, to give her proper name – lived in one of those south-coast retirement towns where the average age is eighty-seven; I still lived in Croydon, where I'd worked.
I knew there was no need to check my social diary. "No problem, Mum. But did you say Jessica wrote you a letter. Why didn't she telephone?"
"I'm worried about her," Mum said. "You're right; why not ring me up rather than write a letter. In fact, she's specifically asked us not to ring her before we meet. It sounds strange, almost ominous."
Neither us mentioned it but Jessica's mother had committed suicide ten years ago and Jessica had followed it with a nervous breakdown.
"So is she coming to stay at your house? Is that OK?" Mum had enough bedrooms but she only kept one functioning as a spare room, which I stayed in on my occasional visits to her.
"I can make up one of the other rooms. It's not a problem as long as she doesn't bring her partner. She hasn't said anything about that."
"All very strange," I said. "See you Friday, then, Mum."
***
With money being tight, I'd taken a bus from the station and walked the half-mile or so from the bus stop to Mum's house. Jessica arrived by taxi half an hour later; time enough for us to get settled into a cup of tea and start exchanging gossip. As requested, Mum hadn't telephoned Jessica, but that hadn't stopped her from ringing around the family to discover the latest news.
"She went to America on holiday five months ago," Mum told me before Jessica arrived. "Her brother reckons that's when it must have happened. But there's no man around, or even talk of one, so it sounds as though it was a brief liaison. I hope she's all right about it."
So did I. She showed me Jessica's letter and I stared at it. It was very brief; not so much a letter, more a note, as it didn't even have her home address and was signed simply with a J.
'Dear Aunt Harriet
'At last, I'm in the club but I really need your help. Could I come and stay with you and Joshua this weekend? I could be there about four on Friday. Things are all a bit tricky so please don't phone me beforehand.
'Lots of love. J.'
"Surely," I said, "when a woman announces she's pregnant, she gives all kinds of details. When it's due, what sex it is, how many weeks she has to go and so on. She couldn't have made this note any briefer. Are you sure she simply hasn't joined a tennis club?"
"When she told us she was in that long term relationship with her boss and was trying to conceive, she kept saying she hadn't yet joined the club. I'm sure that's what she's telling me here."
"But Mum. She wasn't in a relationship with her boss. She was stalking him. She got fired for sexual harassment and eventually was in court for it."
The doorbell rang then and I went to answer it. Jessica was definitely pregnant. She seemed fine although a little nervous, glancing anxiously around as though wondering if the neighbours were going to stone her for having a baby out of wedlock.
Mum made her immediately feel at home. "Hello, love. Take the weight off your feet. Would you like a cup of tea?
"Joshua," she turned to me, "can you take her suitcase upstairs to her room whilst I make some more tea? Doesn't she look absolutely blooming?"
I had to admit she did, although to be honest, she always looked fantastic. She'd had her boobs massively enhanced when she was trying to pull her boss and her bulge was noticeable rather than huge. She'd let her once short dark brown hair grow longer, and it hung down to her shoulders. Her face, as always, was well made up. To be honest, I'd usually been terrified rather than attracted by her. I much preferred a mousy, normal looking woman rather than this sex bomb. I took her huge suitcase up to her room. It weighed a ton; no wonder she'd come in a taxi.
"So why did you want to meet up with us?" Mum raised the subject as soon as we were comfortably seated. "Was it just to tell us your news?"
"I wanted to ask a favour," she said. "A real big favour, but I need to give you the background first. Can you keep a secret? A huge secret?"
"Of course," Mum said, looking at me, and I nodded compliance.
"Of course, the one thing it's impossible to keep secret is that I'm pregnant. The big question is, who's the father?" She stared at us as though she'd said something original and we both stared back. "It's a Very Important Person," she said, emphasising the capital letters. "Ordinarily I wouldn't have told anyone, but I'm frightened for my baby."
"Do you think the baby's got some genetic defect?" Mum asked.
"Oh no, nothing like that," Jessica said. "Quite the opposite really."
"Then why are you worried about the baby?" At last, I asked a question.
"Because people are trying to protect the father. He's married you see and they think it would harm his position if people found out he'd had a child out of wedlock."
"But since you have decided to have the child, what can they do? It's too late to get an abortion. They can't stop you having the baby."
She grimaced and said, "I need to fill you in on how we met. You probably know I went on a long holiday to the US with Alice, an old school friend. After a couple of weeks, we had a blazing row in Florida and split up. I decided I would visit California as planned and was in the airport, waiting for my flight. Then suddenly the airport was filled with police; some kind of security alert and a plane was making an unscheduled landing. Personally, I couldn't care less; I was far more upset about the row with my best friend, so I toddled off to the toilet along one of those service corridors. I was just emerging after a good cry when the doors at the end burst open and a load of suits came through, charging along. I had to duck back inside the toilet to avoid getting trampled to death.
"When they were level with me, a man in their midst suddenly stared me in the eye, and I realised it was Ronald Fluck – you know, that weird US politician – and my heart was beating like crazy. He stopped walking just to stare at me, and then he said, 'I think I need to take a leak.' He stepped towards me and pushed me back into the toilet, and within seconds, we're humping over the washbasins. Five minutes later, he's zipping up his flies and I'm pulling up my shorts and off he goes with a, 'Thank you, ma'am.'
"Sorry," she added, standing up. "I need to go to the toilet. One of the inconveniences of pregnancy." And she had departed towards the downstairs cloakroom.
"What do you think, Joshua?" Mum asked me.
I shrugged. "It's all plausible, I suppose, but…" I hesitated. "…highly unlikely."
"You think she's making it all up?"
"Some of it must be true. You know, the sex in the toilets probably is, but… I don't know."
"You probably think I'm making it all up," Jessica said, re-entering the room and taking us both by surprise. "But when I realised I was pregnant, I sent a message to Ronnie explaining that I was having his child. A week later, I got a visit from an American lawyer who absolutely denied Ronnie was involved but offered me a wodge of money as long as I promised not to make trouble for him. I took it."
"So what's the problem?" I was, of course, dying to ask how much but hadn't the gall.
"It was only ten thousand dollars. I mean, it's fine for buying the baby milk and push chairs and all that, but it's not going to go far when it comes to buying an education, or even a car, is it? So I sent him another letter asking for more. That's when things started happening."
"Things?"
"People following me and giving me funny looks; I was sick the other day after a meal in a café. I think they slipped something in my food to try to make me miscarry."
I looked at Mum again and she looked back at me. Real or imaginary, that was the question.
"So the reason you sent a letter to Mum rather than phoning…" I said.
"They tap my phone calls but I knew they couldn't easily intercept a letter," she said. "I posted the letter a few minutes before it was due to be collected so it would be difficult for them to arrange a false collection. Even if they did manage to open the postbox, they wouldn't know who the letter was addressed to so they'd have to open and read every letter to try to find mine and I made it all fairly vague, so even if they read it, they wouldn't know what it was about."
Mum and I looked at each other again. It all sounded complete paranoia.
"Look. You must believe me," she said. "You're my only hope. They're going to kill my unborn baby unless you help me."
"What do you want us to do?" Mum asked.
Jessica's answer showed she was well into crazy illusions. "I want Joshua to pretend to be me," she said.
"You're crazy," I said. "It would take more than a cushion up my jumper for people to believe that."
"Hang on, Joshua," Mum said before Jessica could respond. "Let's hear what Jessica is thinking of before we judge." I realised she was trying to ensure we didn't drive Jessica over the edge.
"We're about the same height and weight," Jessica said. "Everything else can be changed."
"But we look totally different. Your hair for a start and as for those…" I nodded down towards her scoop neckline exposing her wonderful cleavage. "I don't have those."
"Your face is a dead ringer; it's because I'm so plain that I have to use so much makeup. This hair is a wig. As for my cleavage, there are ways I'll show you shortly. The question is, will you help to protect my unborn baby?"
"We'll do whatever we can, won't we Joshua." My mum broke in before I could rubbish it. "I have to say, Jessica, that I don't think Joshua would make a very good stand in for you, but he'll give it his best try."
"Joshua?" Jessica looked directly at me.
I shrugged. "It's not going to work but at least I'm prepared to give it a try."
"That's brilliant, Joshua." She was suddenly on her feet and bending over me to give me a kiss. Hell, it was like looking down the Grand Canyon.
She took us upstairs and got me to put her suitcase on the bed. When she threw back the lid, it appeared to be full of frilly underwear and pretty dresses, but she removed those from the top, shockingly exposing two large breasts lurking there. "This thing is so big, I had to pack everything else around it and inside it," she said.
More clothes were removed to expose a huge belly to go with the breasts. "It's called a Pregnancy Torsolet," she said. "It's designed for men to wear to simulate pregnancy."
"Bloody hell!" I said.
***
Imagine the torso of a pregnant woman without arms, legs or head, and with all the organs and stuff inside removed. So that's what a Pregnancy Torsolet is like. I was both horrified and fascinated by it. Could I really put it on and appear like a naked pregnant woman? Obviously, I had to appear reluctant, but I knew there was no way I could not try on this thing.
First, I had to go to the bathroom and shave off every hair from my body. I hadn't realised how sexy my legs were without hair; they could have belonged to any sexy woman. I put on the swimming trunks I'd taken in with me before slipping the catch and letting Jessica in, carrying the Torsolet.
"I see the idea turns you on," she said, nodding down towards my trunks, where a huge bulge was showing itself. She grinned at me. "Don't worry, I can sort that out later, but first, let's put this gel all over you to prevent you sweating." She had a pot of a red gel in her hand, and she put on a rubber glove and proceeded to rub it all over my torso. My erection got decidedly harder.
"Help me lift this thing and slip it over your head."
It was remarkably heavy – no wonder her suitcase had weighed a ton, but once we had it held between us, I slipped my arms and head into it like putting on a heavy jumper. It was quite claustrophobic until I could push my head through the narrow neck, but once I could stand upright, it was all right. Jessica pulled it right down my body, until it was down to my bulging swimming trunks.
"Is your mother still downstairs?" she asked.
I went to the door and listened. She had the TV on. "Yes, I said. She's watching Pointless."
"In that case…" She went down on her knees before me, pulled down my trunks and proceeded to get rid of my erection in the nicest possible way. Minutes later, she was spreading the gel over my now limp member, tucking it inside a pocket on the underside of the gusset and then pulling the gusset between my legs and clicking it into a catch at the rear.
"My God!" I stared into the mirror. My body had disappeared and there stood a sexy, pregnant woman with huge boobs and a bush of hair between her legs. "It looks so realistic."
"I'm told you can have sex as a woman, but I'll leave that for you to establish. Let me turn on the Sensotouch, so you can feel your skin."
Before I could ask what Sensotouch was, she picked up a little remote control and pressed one of the number buttons. Zing! Suddenly everything seemed to come alive. Jessica ran a hand lightly down my body and I could feel it as she moved her hand.
"The skin's touch sensitive," she said, "like a computer screen. I'm told it's very realistic."
Fantastic," I said, running my own hands up and down my body, and giving my breasts an experimental squeeze. It felt great.
"Let's go back to the bedroom and I'll put some makeup on you, and show you how to do it. Then you can get dressed and we can show you off to Aunt Harriet."
***
"There's no denying," Mum said, "that Joshua does look incredibly like you, Jessica. But the question now is how does he act as a decoy for you? What are you suggesting? That he goes and lives in your flat for a while?"
"Mum. I can't do that." To be honest, I hadn't thought about that aspect of events. I'd simply been fascinated by the idea of becoming a pregnant woman.
"Let's just see how it goes, first," Jessica said responding to Mum's questions. "I'm presuming I've been followed here and that they're watching the house now. Tomorrow, you and Joshua can go into town and he can practice being me. At the same time, you can keep an eye out for your tail. They don't seem particularly worried about concealing themselves. I think they're partly trying to terrorise me into miscarriage."
Mum didn't look convinced, but said, "It's certainly worth giving it a try."
"Ooh!" I gasped. I felt as though someone had kicked me in the stomach.
"It does that from time to time," Jessica said. "It simulates the baby moving inside you. It's quite uncomfortable, isn't it?"
"Yes, it bloody is," I said. I turned to Mum. "I can't step outside this house dressed up like this. People will realise I'm a man and laugh at me."
Mum shook her head. "They won't realise by looking at you. Your voice is a bit of a giveaway, though."
"Oh, I've just remembered," Jessica said. "I haven't given Joshua his voice change pills.
"They seem to work in the same way as helium," she added. "They make your voice much higher. You probably still won't sound like me, but you certainly won't sound like a man. I'll go and get them."
When she had left the room, I said, "Mum. I can't go out like this. It's crazy."
"We have to keep an open mind with Jessica," she said. "But I have to say I rather like the idea of a pregnant daughter. We can go out and choose some more clothes for you. And we may also find it establishes the truth about Jessica."
"Mum. We're not going to see anyone following us, so it'll prove nothing. What do we do then?"
"Let's just give it a try and see." To be honest, I think she was so captivated by the idea of a pregnant daughter that she didn't worry whether or not Jessica was bonkers or not.
***
"Don't worry about night clothes. You can borrow one of my nightdresses to sleep in."
I smiled at Jessica. "Thanks Jessica, but I think I'll give that a miss. I was going to remove the Torsolet overnight."
"It won't come off," she said. "That gel to stop you sweating is an adhesive. It works by sealing the skin firmly to the Torsolet."
"But it must come off," I said. "Otherwise I'd be stuck in it forever." My heart was suddenly pumping like crazy.
"No. Not forever. The skin is shed after about two weeks and you can remove it then."
"Two weeks? Two weeks! But I've got to go to sign on the dole on Monday. I can't go like this."
"But you've said you'll help me out. You'd have to take the time off anyway. In any case, how are you going to get in the mood of being pregnant if you can pop it on and off whenever you feel like it? That's not how pregnancy works."
"But I don't want to get in the mood of being pregnant. I'll go out with Mum tomorrow but that's it."
"Well, in that case, you'll either have to stay with your mother for two weeks or go back home. Now stop behaving like a horrible man and become a wonderful pregnant woman, and enjoy your pregnancy. I'll get you pretty nightdress."
***
So there it was. I had a wonderful but scary two weeks ahead of me. I reckon I'd played my shock and horror just right to conceal my delight, for after all, what kind of weird male would actually want to spend time as a female, and a pregnant one at that? It certainly made no sense to me.
I think Jessica deliberately gave me her most sexy nightdress to wear that evening, I pretended horror, which made her grin, and I spent the night in continual ecstasy. If I'd been my normal self with such feelings, I'd simply have masturbated and quickly gone to sleep. But such relief was not achieved, in spite of the way my fingers explored my new body. Added to that problem were the frequent painful kicks from my baby to be.
I think I finally fell asleep as dawn was approaching and in next to no time Mum and Jessica were shaking me awake and planning my wardrobe for the day.
It was only when I was showered, dressed and breakfasted that the enormity fully hit me of going out into a world which, unlike my mother and cousin, had not encouraged me into this situation.
"I can't go out there," I said. "Everyone will know."
"I've told you over and over to keep practicing with your new voice," Mum said. "That voice changer pill may have raised your pitch, but you really need to get used to it. Now, give us your nursery rhymes again."
Last night, she'd made me go through Mary had a little lamb, and all the others, a hundred times, but I obediently went through them again. As I listened to my new voice, I felt much calmer, and as Mum and I stepped through the front door and into the real world, I really felt like the pretty, pregnant woman I was impersonating.
At the bus stop, shock, horror, my mum met a couple of her friends and introduced them to me as Brenda and Pat. Immediately, they pounced on me, wanting to know everything about my pregnancy. Fortunately, Jessica had coached me on all the salient facts the previous evening, and I managed to sate their curiosity. As we got on the bus together, I felt more confident in myself than ever. I was going clothes shopping with my mum and we were going to have fun.
It was fun when all the men leered at my low cut top, which Mum and Jessica had insisted I wore – even the old blokes went goggle-eyed over me. There was one incredibly ugly old guy with a horrible mole on his face, who gave me a leer, which sent a thrill of excitement though my body at the idea of being shagged by him. You can have sex as a female, Jessica had said, and the idea had both revolted and thrilled me.
It was also fun looking at all the pretty dresses in the shop windows, and then going in and trying them on. We went from shop to shop with Mum finding all kinds of pretty clothes. I wanted them all, but Mum was rarely satisfied.
"It'll make you look tarty," or "It makes you look fat rather than pregnant."
Then suddenly it wasn't fun. Mum said, "Have you noticed that old bloke standing across the road before?"
She gesticulated with the slightest inclination of her head and I looked at a man peering into a shop window. He was probably in his fifties, with a bald head and as I watched him, he turned his head to glance casually across the road directly at me. He had a large dark mole on his right cheek and I instantly remembered him looking at me as I got off the bus.
"I saw him at the bus station," I said.
"He was also waiting across the road when we came out of that last dress shop," Mum said.
"You mean he really is following us?" I said.
Mum was tight-lipped as she said, "Yes. It looks like it."
I shivered. "I'm scared," I said.
"No reason why you should be," Mum said. "It's not as though you really can lose your baby."
"No, but…"
"But it certainly means we have to take what Jessica was saying very seriously; very seriously indeed."
"Yes Mum."
***
"Did he have a large mole on his right cheek?" Jessica asked as soon as we told her about the elderly man.
"Yes," I said. "Yes, he did."
"He's the most noticeable. Did you notice anyone else following?"
"No," Mum said.
"If he's on my tail, then they've followed me all the way from my flat, so there are almost certainly one or two others," Jessica said. "It's just a matter of looking for them. The others are far less noticeable than him. In time, I expect you'll recognise several."
"What are we going to do now?" I asked. "I'm not certain I want to go ahead with this."
"You must," Mum said. "There's no choice. Jessica's baby is at risk. You must protect them both." She turned to Jessica. "What were you planning, love? For Joshua to live at your flat for a few weeks until it looks like it's dying over? You're welcome to stay here."
"I don't think it would work, Joshua staying at the flat. There are too many people who know me well who'd see through the disguise," she said. "Ronnie's spooks clearly know I'm down here so I think it's probably better if Joshua stays with you. They'll probably think it's so you can guard me from them, as well as caring for me in the latter stages of pregnancy. I'll find somewhere else to live."
"Have you got anywhere else?" I asked.
"I can stay with a friend," Jessica said, "but I don't think I'd better tell you where she is. That way if they do torture you to reveal my whereabouts, you won't be able to tell."
"Torture!" I gasped, "but…"
"Jessica's teasing you," Mum said. "Firstly, they won't suss you if you act the part well. Even if they do, they're not going to harm you. All right?"
She put on such a fierce look I had no alternative but to say, "Yes, Mum."
***
Over lunch, we agreed that Mum would hire a car and return with Jessica to her flat, pack several suitcases and bring them back here. Tomorrow, Mum and I would go out somewhere, hopefully drawing attention of the spooks away from the house, whilst Jessica departed to stay with her friend. That meant, when Mum and I returned to the house later on, the real Jessica would have gone and only her stand in, ie, me, would be left, so the spooks would then be permanently on my tail.
I was a quite freaked out after they'd departed to the car hire company and then on to Jessica's flat in London. Taking the part of a pregnant woman was partly to blame, although I had been really enjoying that. But the very idea that Jessica's supposed paranoia had now turned into real life was quite scary. It's one thing to see it on TV, quite another to actually experience it for yourself.
And what was Ronald Fluck's motive? Everyone knew he was a nutter, but would he really employ people to make a woman miscarry, when he was so vehemently against abortion. But then, what politicians said was one thing; what they did quite another. There again, Jessica had indicated it was friends of Fluck who were carrying out the actions, rather than his employees working on his orders. But how did she know? These spooks had hardly introduced themselves, and wasn't her thought motivated by her reluctance to see Fluck as the hateful man he really was, rather than as the father of her child.
It was clear I was going to have to keep a very sharp eye out for anything suspicious, and avoid dark unlit streets. But then, I supposed, women generally had to do that all the time and they came to terms with it. Perhaps I should just concentrate upon taking Jessica's place and let the rest sort itself out. Otherwise, I'd go as bonkers as she was.
***
The following morning, Jessica came into my room first thing to show her appreciation for my services. Doing that in the same way as she'd done on Friday evening was clearly not possible, but she gave me the female equivalent and it was very, very nice. I could, I thought, get used to being a woman. Then the sprog kicked me in the stomach again and I realised that pain, quite a lot of pain, goes with the pleasures of womanhood.
Mum and Jessica helped me chose my clothes and Jessica gave me final instructions on makeup. I had got reasonably adept at it since Friday, but still had problems around my eyelashes. Mum said she'd continue to help me for a few days until I got the hang of it.
Then we left the house to continue the shopping we'd finished early the previous day. Being Sunday, the buses were only hourly, so there was a big queue when we got to the bus stop. Brenda was there again, but not Pat, and I managed to have a reasonable chat with her.
Of course, by the time we got on the bus, there were no seats available. But two teenage boys immediately stood up for me and Mum, and we both had seats. I gave them a nice smile, which seemed to embarrass them.
There was no sign of mole face during that day's shopping, but I noticed a couple of women seemed to follow us from shop to shop. Jessica hadn't mentioned whether her followers were all men or a mixture. I guess that since we were going into dress shops, it would be easier for women to keep a close eye on us. I wondered whether the women knew the objective of their project; hopefully not. Even in these times of equality, I still like to think that few women are evil in the way that men frequently are.
So having women following us didn't seem so threatening and Mum and I enjoyed our shopping trip in a way we never had done before in our lives. I could see why Mum was pleased at having a pregnant daughter. We chatted about clothes and my new baby in a way that really made me think I was going to have one. When niggling thoughts came into my head that this was all make believe, I firmly rejected them. I was going to BE Jessica Roberts until...
We stopped at a pub for lunch; I was feeling quite thirsty but I knew that beer would be a no-no, so it would have to be a glass of wine.
"I'll have a large glass of Sauvignon," Mum said. "Have you settled on any particular drink now you can no longer drink alcohol?"
No longer drink alcohol! No one had said that was one of the conditions of pregnancy. If they had done, I'd certainly have refused. And I certainly wouldn't have suggested a pub lunch if I'd known I'd have to sit around like a lemon watching everyone else get drunk
"Why not try a lemonade and lime?" Mum suggested, grinning at the look on my face.
So I did, and actually it was quite nice. And although I've always found that drinking alcohol makes me much more sociable, Mum and I seemed to have no difficulty chatting about all kinds of things over lunch, including stupid things like how we would decorate the nursery. But eventually, my mind came around to that disquieting 'until' I'd thought about earlier.
"Aunt, do we have any way of contacting Joshua?" (We'd agreed that when speaking to each other, whether in public or private, we would refer to her as Joshua, and Mum as Aunt Harriet.)
"No," she said, "I thought he'd given you his friend's address." We both grinned at calling Jessica 'he'.
"No, I don't have any details," I said. "Josh loaned me his mobile phone again this morning, as he did yesterday, so the spooks could triangulate, or whatever they do to find its location and it would point to me. But he suggested that once he'd left the area, I kept it turned off so I wouldn't have friends and relatives ringing up and wanting to talk to him. He bought me a new mobile phone yesterday and I assumed he'd also bought one for himself and given you the number."
"But that would be no good," Mum said. "Presumably the spooks were following us yesterday afternoon and they'd be able to find out Joshua's new number, so they could then triangulate that. He can only buy a new phone now he's incognito."
"Let's hope he calls with the number quite soon. I do think we need to contact each other in case of emergencies."
"Duh!" Mum gave me a 'don't be stupid look'. "Presumably, our own phone is now being monitored by the spooks. He can hardly announce his new number to them as well as us. In any case, I think this conversation really shouldn't be conducted in a public place. We don't know which of these other customers are spooks."
It was true. We'd chosen a quiet corner seat but since then, the pub had filled up and one or two others were sitting quite close to us. I stared at them, trying to memorise their faces, until a male sitting at an adjacent table gave me a wink and a questioning look, as though to say, "Want to come back to my place?" I hurriedly turned away. As a man, the idea of being able to have sex with virtually any member of the opposite sex seemed idyllic; as a woman, it's horrifying how easily any glance can be taken as an offer.
We arrived back at the house with several carrier bags containing underwear and some very pretty dresses. As we'd expected, the house was empty and it brought home to me how isolated I was. I was stuck in this Pregnancy Torsolet thing for at least two weeks and would be the target for an unknown number of spooks attempting to make me lose my baby, or worse. I had no way of contacting Jessica, even in emergency, and my fifty year old mum was bouncing around as though I really was expecting a baby.
"We're going to have such fun," she said, seeing the look of apprehension on my face. "Maybe we should think about setting you up with a boyfriend. He'd be able to take care of you much better…"
"Mum!" I burst out. "I don't want a boyfriend. I'm your…"
She slapped my face.
"Sorry darling, but you were getting a little hysterical." She leaned right forward to whisper in my ear, "Remember, we must assume they've planted listening bugs in here by now. It's vital we don't reveal any secrets, so never call me Mum again or reveal your relationship. It's probably better if you think of me as Aunt, as I'm thinking of you as Jessica."
"Right," I said, still rather in shock over her slap. "But I really don't want a boyfriend."
Mum slowly nodded. "It's a shame but I suppose you’re right. But that doesn't stop us dressing you as though you were looking for a boyfriend. Remember, a few more weeks and you'll be gestating like an elephant."
"I don't think so," I whispered, aware of the potential bugs.
Mum simply smirked and nodded her head. When I looked puzzled, she beckoned me to lean forward so she could whisper into my ear. "We have to add half a litre of water to your Torsolet every week, so it mimics normal growth in pregnancy. Jessica's told me how to do it."
"Seems hardly worth it for a fortnight," I whispered back. "It won't make any noticeable difference."
"Why are you talking about a fortnight?" Mum asked. "You know we have to continue this until your full term, and we hear that Jessica's baby has been safely delivered."
"No! That wasn't what we agreed." I shouted rather than whispered that but it was hardly controversial.
"Yes it was," Mum replied. "After we realised that Fluck's spooks were following you yesterday, we agreed it would be best if you stayed here until you've had the baby, rather than just for the first two weeks, which we'd been discussing earlier. So you'll just have to get used to living here for the next four months.
"And," she added, "Jessica has agreed to pay you a wage for doing this, out of the money she got from that Ronald Fluck, equivalent to what you would have got on the dole. So you can shut up moaning and get on with your pregnancy.
Wow! Did I have some weird feeling surging through me? On the one hand, I'd clearly been tricked into this situation; on the other, the idea of carrying my baby until I was able to give birth, was thrilling and strangely satisfying. The regular kicks should have been simply uncomfortable; instead, they made everything seem totally real.
***
So, I've settled into my pregnancy. It was incredibly exhilarating at first, with lots of blokes giving me the eye as I went out with Mum. But gradually, as I looked more and more like that gestating elephant, so those lecherous looks reduced. Instead was this wonderful sense of satisfaction with my own womanhood (I know that sounds strange) as well as the comradeship with other women, in particular my mum. I think both of us had almost forgotten that I wasn't really pregnant, there was no real baby inside me; indeed, I wasn't really a woman. Deep inside our minds, of course, we realised it, but the thought was pushed to one side and we roller-coasted on the excitement it brought to both our lives.
Over the weeks, we both got to recognise the people who seemed to be following us. We could never be absolutely sure, of course, but when you're looking out for it, it's easy to identify a few faces who you see time and time again. I had bought a bug detector, one of those things which allows you to detect any secret listening devices, and the good news was that our house was bug free, so our earlier inhibitions had been unjustified and we no longer had to whisper inside our own home.
As the months went by and the final weeks of my pregnancy approached, I became so heavy I could barely walk. I kept begging my mum not to add the half kilo of water per week towards the end, but she said that was what every pregnant woman had to go through and I was no different. I guess I should have been hoping that Jessica herself would soon give birth and that my ordeal would be over. But I also knew that would be the end of my pregnancy, and I'd be losing my child. So somehow, I think we both hoped her pregnancy would go on forever.
Then, a letter arrived in the post saying I was being admitted the following day to St Margaret's Maternity Hospital in Seacombe, which is a seaside town further along the south coast, well over a hundred miles away. Mum suggested it was a mistake: that Jessica had arranged the admission for herself, giving my address as her own. It seemed reasonable so at last we knew where Jessica was going to be. As long as I could first shake off my followers, I would be able to meet up with her.
It was an opportunity too good to miss. Mum and I made plans for our escape with the help of Brenda and Pat, our friends we frequently met at the bus stop. We didn't tell them the whole story, of course, simply that my non-British ex-partner was having me followed and I wanted to shake him off before I gave birth. There have been so many publicised incidents where fathers have taken their children from the mother, I didn't have to elucidate.
Brenda agreed to give us a lift in her Ford Fiesta, whilst Pat, driving behind us in her Morris Minor, would block any attempts to follow us. Quite the James Bond.
We set out six am the following morning. Mum and I were waiting when Brenda's Fiesta stopped outside the house. We were out of the front door and Mum was climbing into the back seat within seconds. It took rather longer for me to squeeze my enormous bulk inside the tiny passenger seat, and Brenda insisted on my fastening the seat belt before we set off, but even so it seemed quick enough to take our watchers by surprise.
We turned onto the main road, still quiet at that hour, overtook Pat's Morris Minor which was idling along and then drove in convoy, with Pat ready to block the road at the sight of any car following us.
Initially, we headed towards London, but after we felt reasonably safe that we weren't being followed, we veered across to the coast road using isolated B roads. Although it was a misty morning, Mum even kept an eye out for helicopters tailing us.
After we'd travelled for twenty minutes, or so, Mum telephoned Pat on her mobile and suggested she go back home and we cracked on towards Seacombe.
***
St Margaret's Maternity Hospital was one of those large houses with several brass plates next to the door, clearly a private hospital no doubt paid for from Ronald Fluck's money. There were no parking spaces left on the forecourt, so Mum and I got out whilst Brenda went off to find somewhere to park. Inside, a sign indicated that St Margaret's Maternity Hospital was on the second floor. As we squeezed inside the tiny lift, I couldn't help feeling grateful that I wasn't on a stretcher in the throes of childbirth.
We found a door bearing the St Margaret's name and stepped inside, where there was a woman in scrubs with a badge bearing the word 'Midwife'.
"Jessica Jones?" I enquired of her.
She rapidly took in my condition and said, "Come in," with a sympathetic smile. "We were expecting you." Before I could explain that we were here to visit Jessica, she added, "Presumably, you are really Joshua Jones?"
I think my mouth sagged wide open.
"Er, yes," I said.
She smiled at my surprise. "The real Jessica will be here later on to visit you and your new-born baby, but in the meantime, we have to get on with your delivery."
"My… delivery? What do you mean? If you know I'm really Joshua then you'll realise that I'm a man. I can't give birth."
"You're wrong," she said. "Let me explain. I'm not really a midwife, but I work for the company called Big Busts here in Seacombe, the company who make your Pregnancy Torsolet. We pride ourselves that our Torsolet is capable not just of simulating pregnancy, but of a realistic childbirth, as well. Miss Jones tells us that a video is required of you giving birth to prove some kind of legal case. We'll take the video, of course, but we in Big Busts don't involve ourselves in the legal side of things. However, we're all set up, so if we can get you into the delivery ward, we can make a start."
"Stop! Stop! Stop!" I said. "I'm sorry, this is totally unexpected. I can't do that. It'll be painful, won't it?"
"I think you'll find it's quite realistic," she said.
"You mean it will hurt like crazy?"
She smiled. "I'm afraid it may hurt a little."
"Or it may hurt a lot," Mum helpfully added. "It's what pregnant women have to put up with in order to have their children."
"But Mum, Jessica never mentioned this."
Mum gave a little grimace. "Well, I didn't like to worry you but she told me about it when we hired the car to pick up her things."
"So you knew all along. You tricked me into coming here."
"Well, obviously you couldn't go into our local maternity hospital to have your baby delivered. Jessica told me the company had this place they can set up to do the job. So I had to get you here. Apparently, your delivery date was already arranged and programmed into your Torsolet."
"No!" I said. "I'm sorry, but I'm not going ahead with this. I'm walking out of here now… Oooh!" There was a strange wetness running down my legs.
"I think your waters have broken," the midwife said.
***
They told me afterwards that it was a quick and relatively easy first birth. I can fortunately remember few things from those few hours, which mainly involved an incredible amount of pain and screaming on my part, the sweat running down my forehead as I followed the commands to, "Push! Push!" when I didn't really know what I was pushing.
Finally, there was the sound of a baby yelling and a little bundle wrapped in a blanket was thrust into my arms.
"He looks just like his father," my mum said. To me, he looked absolutely beautiful.
***
Jessica came to visit me later, and she dutifully admired the baby sucking my breast. (OK, I have to admit that this was a very realistic doll which they had produced, and which could yell like a real baby, suck milk like a real baby and shit like a real baby. I mean, what else do babies do at that age?)
"He's beautiful," she said, I think more because it was expected of her than because she believed it.
"He is, isn't he?" I said. I knew he wasn't a real baby, but I was attached to him like any other mother who's carried her baby for months, and then gone through hell and back in order to give birth.
I looked at her properly for the first time. Clearly, Jessica was no longer pregnant; indeed, she looked far slimmer than me, even now I'd given birth. "But where's your baby?" I asked.
She gave a kind of apologetic smile and shrugged.
"Actually, I never was pregnant," she said.
"What?" I couldn't believe what she'd said. "But… we saw you. You were five months gone."
She shook her head. "No, I was simply wearing another Pregnancy Torsolet."
"You weren't pregnant? Then why did you say you were?"
"Isn't it obvious? I was putting the screws on Ronald. I was quite happy for him to screw me in that toilet, but he can't just cast me aside like that. He has to be made to pay."
"But you told me you'd got ten thousand dollars out of him."
"I've got a bit more now. As soon as I emailed the video they took this morning and they saw the baby, there was no doubt about the father. They paid up straightaway."
I looked down at my baby, still heavily sucking my breasts. "They never tried to make the baby miscarry. So why did they go to the expense of having you, and then me, continually followed."
"Ah." She looked even more apologetic now.
"Ah, what?"
"They weren't actually following either of us around."
"But Mum and I have seen them, continually; ever since I took over your role. First, there was that old bloke with the mole, who you identified, and then there have been several women who we notice virtually every time we go out."
"I'm afraid that old bloke was me," she said. "Wearing a mask. As soon as you left the house that morning, I pulled off my Pregnancy Torsolet, slipped on the mask and a few clothes. I got a taxi into town, and could watch you getting off the bus. I then followed you until I was certain you'd noticed me. After that, I got a taxi back here, put on the Pregnancy Torsolet and was waiting for you when you got back."
"That's rubbish," I said. "Once it's on, you can't pull the Torsolet off again for two weeks."
She gave me a wicked grin. "It depends which gel you use. There's a temporary gel I was using. You can pop the thing on and off as convenient."
"But the other people following us…"
"Once I'd convinced you there really were people watching you, your imagination did the rest. In a small town like that, you're bound to frequently see the same people over and over again."
"But if you weren't being watched," I said, trying to work everything out, "why on earth did you want me to pretend to be you?"
"In order to pursue my claim against Fluck," she said. "I had to show I was continually pregnant right up to the moment of childbirth. I was going to do it all myself, but I realised after a few months that it was incredibly uncomfortable and painful, not to say it restricted my social life. So I spun the yarn to you and your mum about the spooks following me in order to get you to stand in for me. You and I really are alike, you know. I simply told the solicitors I was dealing with that I'd changed address. I think they probably sent an investigator to come and look at you once or twice, and make certain you really were pregnant. It all worked perfectly."
"You mean I've been taking the part of a pregnant woman for four months in order to help you extort money from someone, because you were too lazy to do the difficult bit yourself. You did really have sex with him in that toilet, didn't you? I mean, he wasn't just taking a leak?"
"I'll cut you in on the deal," Jessica said, ignoring my question. "Say ten percent."
"How much was it?" I asked.
"One hundred thousand dollars. That makes it ten thousand dollars for you."
"Stuff that," I said. "I did all the hard work. I want half, and if you don't want to pay up, I only have to mention to Fluck's solicitor what you did and you go to jail."
She opened her mouth, about to argue, and then closed it again. "Done," she said.
Actually, the money didn't seem that important. What was important was that I keep my baby.
Enjoyed this story? Then you may also enjoy The Pudding Club or my other stories.
When first we practice to deceive
Synopsis: A pregnancy simulator seems an ideal way of convincing Paul's wife that pregnancy is really not that bad, and they agree to try it on holiday on Seacombe Moor. But it's not just the jailbreak from Seacombe Prison that turns everything upside down for Paul. This story is complete but is being serialised in six chapters, to be released at approximately daily intervals.
When first we practice to deceive
Synopsis: A pregnancy simulator seems an ideal way of convincing Paul's wife that pregnancy is really not that bad, and they agree to try it on holiday on Seacombe Moor. But it's not just the jailbreak from Seacombe Prison that turns everything upside down for Paul. This story is complete but is being serialised in six chapters, to be released at approximately daily intervals.
All people, places and events in this series are entirely fictional. If you need medical advice about pregnancy, consult a doctor rather than the pages of this fictional story.
Chapter 1 - Conception
"Marianne, I'm sorry about that argument," I said, going into our study, into which she had promptly disappeared after our flaming row, loudly slamming the door. That had been over an hour ago, so I thought it might now be safe to make peace.
"I should think so too," she said, pulling a face at me. "I mean, Paul, it's not as though we disagree about having children - it's just the timing. I simply don't think I'm ready to grow to the size of an elephant. If you had to do it you wouldn't be so keen. Look at these pictures."
She swivelled the screen of the computer around so I could see what was on the display - several naked, highly-pregnant and rather butch-looking women.
I nodded sympathetically. "I know, Marianne, but you would never look like that, and in any case, they're not quite elephant-sized. Most women put up with it, sooner or later." I didn't say she was now thirty-five, and if she didn't do it soon she'd be saying it was too late.
Of course, the big problem was that she was a fashion model: Marianne Black - you've probably heard of her - she's in all the classy fashion magazines. Of course, it would certainly mean putting her career on hold, and I knew that Marianne thought she would never get back into modelling after a break for childbirth.
"Actually," she said, "you may think these are pictures of pregnant women but they're not."
I stared at the women more carefully, with their heavily distended stomachs and huge breasts. "They certainly look heavily pregnant to me."
"They're wearing pregnancy simulators," she said.
I stared some more. "You're kidding me," I said. "I thought those sort of things were made of canvas and fastened around the neck with Velcro straps."
"Not these," she said. "They're from a company called Big Busts. All their products are highly realistic. Here..." She clicked on a link and the picture changed to what looked like a pregnant woman's torso, without arms, legs or neck. "That's their Pregnancy Torsolet."
"Fantastic," I said.
"I thought we could try one - just to see what it was like," she said.
"Really?" I was overjoyed. At last Marianne was getting serious about becoming pregnant. "That would be absolutely brilliant. Shall we order one now?"
She smiled at my enthusiasm. "We ought to plan how we're going to use it," she said. "I mean, it's not simply a thing you put on for a few hours and then take off whenever you get a bit of backache. You have to wear it continually otherwise it's simply not a proper simulation - I'd have thought two weeks was the minimum we should try it, if you agree?"
Knowing I would sound over-excited if I spoke, I nodded. A couple of weeks sounded an excellent period.
"Clearly," she continued, "we'd have to go away somewhere for a while, otherwise everyone would be pointing and jeering."
"Maybe," I cautiously said, although I didn't think people would really jeer at her, "and obviously it's got to fit in with your work."
"Yours too," she said, "although, of course, yours is a lot more flexible."
She was right about my work being fairly flexible. As a computer software consultant, I spent most of my time working at home producing special applications for clients. I wasn't certain why she felt I needed to be around all the time she was wearing this simulator, but that would be a small price to pay if it overcame Marianne's reluctance, so I shrugged. "What do you suggest?"
"It needs to be somewhere we won't meet anyone we know, so it should be quite remote. A few months ago, I did a photo shoot at the Manor House on Seacombe Moor? That's when someone told me about Big Busts products - they're a local company.
"Do you remember how I raved over the hotel?" she continued. "It was really superb, set in a delightful wooded valley just on the edge of the moor. I thought I'd quite like to go back there sometime. How about if we booked that for some time in April? The long-range weather forecast says it's going to be nice, then. I have a few bookings scheduled, but it would be fairly simple for me to pop off for a day or two for any I can't reschedule."
"That sounds great," I said. "I used to go to Seacombe on holidays with my parents when I was a kid, and we'd go onto the moor for a day outing. I wouldn't mind going back there." Mind you, I wasn't certain Marianne would be that keen on the place if she knew there was a prison only a few miles away. And whilst I would love the numerous walks that led across the moor, Marianne was never keen on walking and I was certain she'd be even less so wearing a pregnancy simulator.
"It's a deal then," Marianne said. "I'll make the bookings."
Marianne wouldn't let me get involved in any aspect of planning the holiday, apart from borrowing my credit card when it came to paying. The price of the hotel I was prepared for, but hell, you should have seen the price of the pregnancy simulator thing.
"Well, it's you that's pushing for us to have a baby now," Marianne said, "so I reckon you can put up with all the discomfort that causes."
I shut up. I certainly didn't want to restart an argument in that area.
As we approached the start of the trial, I bought a couple of walking maps of the moor and a guidebook - although I had to do it all fairly surreptitiously whilst Marianne was at work; I didn't want her thinking I'd be out enjoying myself whilst she was mimicking a whale in the hotel swimming pool. (I didn't say that, OK?)
There were several public footpaths which twisted their way across the moor; the guide book advised never to stray from the well-marked paths by as much as one yard, as the bogs were notoriously dangerous and could swallow a horse and cart as easily as a man. Great! I loved the challenge of walking in wild country.
And even Marianne seemed to be really looking forward to it - not just to the holiday but to the whole idea of simulating pregnancy. She went out and bought a load of pregnancy wear, asking my opinion about it much more than she normally consulted me about clothes - after all, as a fashion model, she had a pretty good idea for herself about what suited her.
But she dragged me around all the shops; did I prefer this colour of sundress or that? Did I think it was decent for a pregnant woman to wear low-cut tops to expose her boobs? What about short-skirts? What did I think about men looking at a half-naked pregnant woman?
"For heaven's sake, Marianne," I said. "This is the twenty-first century. Women don't have to go into mourning when they're pregnant. They can and should still look sexy, and the woman carrying my baby is going to be the sexiest pregnant woman on earth."
She gave me a kiss, and said, "Thanks, Paul. It's really great knowing you're prepared to stand by me on this idea."
"How could you ever doubt it?" I asked, grasping her around her waist and pulling her towards me for a really big kiss - we were in the middle of Mothercare at the time and a few customers smirked at us.
"The real problem," Marianne continued when we'd finished our snog, "is that I don't really know what size to choose. Normally, women grow a bit at a time and buy bigger clothes as they grow in size. This time it's going straight from conception to nine months pregnant in zero time, so I'm having to guess at most of the sizes. I don't even know how shoe sizes change during pregnancy. I'm a size five." She stared down at my feet. "What size are you?"
"Marianne," I said, "I'm a size eight, but I don't really see what that has got to do with anything. This is a pregnancy simulator we're talking about. It doesn't make the feet grow.
She shrugged. "You're right of course. I guess I'm getting carried away. Well, do you think pregnant women can still wear heels?"
"I should think so," I said. "In any case, they always look far sexier."
She nodded. "I suppose so. OK, let's go next door to the shoe shop and you can help me choose a few pairs of shoes - say some sandals, and some court shoes."
Marianne thought the heels should be quite wide, as otherwise it would be easy to topple over, but otherwise she seemed quite happy for me to chose her shoes, so I’m afraid I indulged myself - I always love high heels, and I selected those with heels at least as high as those she normally wears - one pair even higher, but she didn't demure.
"Thanks, love. Do you want to take some of this other stuff back to the car whilst I discuss the shoe size with the assistant?"
I was quite glad to get out at that point as I knew from experience how long Marianne could spend choosing the right-sized shoes - she always made such a fuss about getting them fitting properly.
Marianne was working away for most of the week before our holiday, so when the carrier delivered a large box for her on Tuesday I was sorely tempted to open it. To be honest, I found the idea of this pregnancy suit quite erotic. I knew it was unlikely to look as convincing as it had done in the pictures, but all the same, to be able to make a woman look nine months pregnant simply by slipping it on had been occupying my mind ever since Marianne had shown it to me on the website. (I'd tried to have a look at the website next day, but you needed a password to access it - presumably to prevent people like me gawping at it.)
Unfortunately, when Marianne telephoned me on Tuesday evening, she absolutely forbade me from opening the box. So that was that. She’d arranged to take Friday off work, but she didn’t arrive back home until about seven on Thursday evening.
"Hi honey," she said, a big grin on her face. "God, I've missed you. Why don't we go straight to bed, and have dinner a bit later."
"Er, right," I replied. After being married for a few years, it had become unusual for Marianne to take the initiative like that, but who was I to complain?
I didn't!
I jerked awake some hours later. The alarm clock said it was ten-thirty, and we'd missed dinner but, bloody hell, what did I care? We'd not had sex like that for years. When we'd first met, it had been non-stop sex for days on end. Then she'd go away on one of her photo shoots for several days before returning to rapturous joy and even more rapturous sex.
Later, I realised that when she was away, her sexual appetite did not remain unfulfilled. When I had challenged her, she'd replied that this was modern Britain, and I didn't own her and she was a healthy woman with a healthy sexual appetite. She was quite happy if I had occasional flirtations with other women, as long as it didn't affect our long term relationship. It was one of the issues one either comes to terms with or the relationship splits up. I guess one of the reasons for my wanting a family was to try to stabilise what, at times, had appeared a volatile relationship.
I could hear some kitchen-type noises from below, so presumably Marianne had gone down to make herself a snack. I got up and put on a dressing gown so I could go and join her.
"Hi sexy."
"Hi," she replied. "I didn't know whether to wake you up or to let you sleep on. You looked so relaxed."
"No wonder after what you did to me."
"I thought we ought to celebrate our last night as a normal couple. It will be pregnancy day tomorrow."
Thank God! I'd been wondering whether she was giving me a sweetener in order to cry off from her commitment, but give Marianne her due, she was going ahead with it.
"What do you think of her?" She gesticulated towards the seat next to the kitchen table.
"Bloody hell!" I said, almost jumping out of my skin. I hadn't expected to see a dismembered pregnant woman's torso sitting at my kitchen table. I gave a little shudder.
"Isn’t it horrible?" she said, pulling a terrible face.
"There’s nothing horrible about the sight of a pregnant woman," I said. "It's the missing arms, legs and head which made me wince. Sure the stomach is huge, but that is one of the facts of life of being pregnant."
"But it’s not just the stomach," she said. "Look at the size of the boobs."
This was one of those areas where I always had a difference of opinion to Marianne. The fashion industry as a whole — and Marianne was no exception - thought the idea of an attractive body was to try to appear like a starving African refugee. So she was almost anorexic in her desire to avoid putting on a single extra ounce.
Me? I prefer nice, big tits, but that’s hardly the kind of comment I could make to my 34-AA wife. The tits on this thing were not just nice and big — they were absolutely enormous, with nipples as big as the ends of my thumbs.
"They’ve probably gone a bit over the top in estimating the effects of pregnancy," I said. "You could complain and exchange it for a slightly smaller size." But please, please, please don’t, I silently added to myself.
"Well, I did order their Maxi Pregnancy version," she admitted.
"Then this actually isn’t that bad," I said, thinking that was a stupid thing to have done, clearly with the intention of trying to make pregnancy appear as awful as possible.
She smiled. "I think after wearing it for a couple of weeks, you might think so."
Well, I won’t be wearing it, I thought, but I reckon you’ll be regretting ordering the Maxi version straightaway — and you’ll never stop complaining about it. "Well, let’s just see how it goes," I said philosophically.
"Fine," she said. "I’ve got beauty treatments and hairdressing appointments taking up virtually all of tomorrow, but they’re all coming here, rather than us having to go to the salons."
It never ceased to amaze me how much beauty treatment Marianne thought she needed. I mean, she was incredibly good-looking, even with her minute tits. She simply did not need to spend so much time at the beauticians.
"All day!" I said. "That’s a hell of a lot of beauty treatment."
"Well, let's think," she said. She started to list the treatments on the fingers of her hand. "There's a complete leg and body wax; a full facial electrolysis; shaping eyebrows; a manicure with acrylic extensions; a pedicure; and a facial. We've then got a break which will give us time to put on the torsolet. After that, the hairdresser's coming at 4 pm; and finally the beautician is coming back at 6.30 to do a full make-up."
"Wow," I said, "that's pushing it, even for you."
"Don’t be stupid," she said, giving me a surprised look. "The treatments are not for me - they're for you."
"For me?" I couldn't understand what she was talking about. "Why should I need..."
Gulp! A terrible thought had just hit me. She could not be serious. Could she?
"Why are you looking so puzzled?" she said. "You agreed to it."
"Agreed? When did I agree to it?"
"When I showed you those pictures of men wearing the Pregnancy Torsolets," she said. "You said it was a brilliant idea and we should order one."
"Men? You showed me pictures of pregnant women, except you told me they weren't pregnant."
"And I also told you they weren't women," Marianne said.
Had she? I certainly couldn't remember that, but then I couldn't recall the actual words she'd used. "Marianne, you can't seriously be expecting me to wear this pregnancy simulator. I'd look ridiculous."
"Why on earth," she said, "do you think I took you to all those maternity shops asking which you clothes you preferred? You surely don't think I'd need to ask you about my clothes, do you?"
"Well..." That had puzzled me at the time.
"In any case," she gave me a little smile, changing her tactic to persuasion rather than attack, "I think you'll find that after the beauty treatments and putting on the torsolet, you will look exactly like lots of other pregnant women, and if you think that means looking ridiculous, then so be it."
To be honest, I was undergoing really mixed emotions at this stage. Obviously, I was appalled at the very idea of dressing up as a woman - I mean, any bloke would be, wouldn't he? Except that - well, my heart had started to pump like mad, and the idea was - I suppose I could say incredibly exciting. Just suppose I could...
"The idea is crazy," I said. "People would obviously suss me straightaway."
"And I'm telling you they won't," Marianne said. "After all, you didn't realise the pictures you saw were of men, not women."
Now I came to think of it, I did recall they looked quite butch.
"But if you really don't want to do it," she continued, "then I guess there's nothing for it but to call the whole thing off."
"No!" I realise I'd fallen right into her trap. She'd guessed all along that when I discovered what she was up to I would refuse - and then it would be my decision that meant she never became pregnant. I had to call her bluff. The fact that incredible excitement was racing around and around my brain at the very thought of it was irrelevant. I was going to do this for our not-yet-conceived child.
"I'll do it," I said. "I'll become a pregnant woman."
Marianne didn't look at all nonplussed that I'd called her bluff. Instead she said, "That's great, Paul. I am really pleased you're going to join the pudding club."
And she sounded it as well, so perhaps I'd misjudged her.
I was feeling incredibly embarrassed as we waited for Marianne's beautician, Tracey to arrive, but she was so understanding, it all quickly slipped away.
"I think it's really considerate of you," she gushed (she was a very gushing person). "I can't imagine my boyfriend going through that to make me feel easier about getting pregnant. Marianne doesn't know how lucky she is."
"Yes she does," Marianne's voice came from behind us, having silently re-entered the room after switching on the kettle. "I think it's really sweet of Paul to do this for me. But I'm just so uneasy about giving up my career at this time. Anyway, let's see how these next couple of weeks go. Do you want Paul to strip down to his trunks?"
Marianne had already warned me to put on my swimming trunks beneath my trousers.
"Yes please." She gave me a smile. "Get ready for the journey of your life - from red-blooded male to nine-month-pregnant woman in just a few hours."
I gave a sickly smile and started to pull off my tee-shirt.
"See you again," Tracey said with a chuckle, several hours later. "Or at least, I'll see Marianne again quite shortly, but I shan't be seeing you, Paul, for a quite while. Good luck."
"Thanks, Tracey," I said with a grin. I'd really got to like her as she'd applied herself to making me more beautiful, and there'd been absolutely no embarrassment at all, apart from my frequent erections making themselves noticeably visible beneath my trunks. I really couldn't understand it. Why should I have an erection when I realised how smooth my newly-waxed legs felt? I was turned on by them, for goodness sake, as though they were really the shapely legs of some sexy woman. Actually, it was amazing just how shapely they were, but I'd never even noticed that before.
It was even worse when Tracey finished my nails, and I held up my hands before me and saw those bright red talons. OK, Tracey had not made them all that long, but God, they felt erotic! Of course, I then had difficulty handling anything at all, and that included trying to adjust the position of my massive hard-on. Tracey and Marianne laughed at my discomfort, and teased me in a good-natured way, but then they were good enough to turn their backs for a few seconds whilst I readjusted myself, trying not to pierce my genitals with my nails as I did so.
With Tracey gone, it was time to start the major part of my transformation - putting on the torsolet. I've already mentioned that it looked exactly like the torso of a pregnant woman, but with the arms, legs and head cut off. Of course, in reality it was a skin-coloured leotard with the breasts and stomach padded out by liquid-filled membranes. The realistic looking vagina unfastened between the legs like a gusset, enabling the torsolet to be slid over the head and pulled down the body.
"First we have to apply the gel," Marianne told me. "Otherwise, you'd perspire as though you were in a Turkish bath." She had a large plastic tub of red gel, and she slipped a disposable plastic glove over her right hand, before dipping it into the tub and then smearing liberal quantities over my torso, from my neck just beneath the chin right down to the top of my trunks.
"Do you want me to take them off," I offered, knowing full well what would be springing out at her as soon as she did so. After the morning's events, I felt incredibly randy, and I was hoping that Marianne had arranged for Tracey to disappear in order to take full advantage of my last moments of being a man.
"I think we'd better hold that bit in reserve for the time being," Marianne said. "Let's get the torsolet over your head and down your body as far as your trunks."
It was made of quite stretchy material, and although there was a narrow, high neck which came right under the chin, it slipped easily over my head, and then I could push my arms through the armholes and Marianne pulled it down my body. I looked down.
Jesus! What a pair of knockers! Fancy carrying those around all day long.
Enormous nipples, like large, ripe, red grapes. But beneath them, protruding even further than my breasts was my stomach. It distended outwards like a huge cushion. Only, I now realised, there was a huge difference between stuffing a cushion up your sweater to simulate pregnancy, and wearing this Pregnancy Torsolet. The sheer extra weight felt like carrying a sack of sand strapped to my waist. I staggered a little, unused to the difference in balance.
"Get used to it," Marianne said, "and think yourself lucky. You only have two weeks like this. I'd have nine months of it."
I suppose I could have argued that for most of pregnancy, her weight increase would be nothing like as big, and that in any case, she'd chosen the Maxi Pregnancy model, so this was far heavier than she would be likely to suffer, even towards the end. Instead, I was wondering how the hell I was going to manage carrying this load around for the rest of the day, never mind for weeks. And if I had to give up, that would mean the end of any hope of Marianne becoming pregnant.
"We'd better get to the bit you've been waiting for all morning," she said. "Pull your trunks down and let's have a look at what we've got to try to stuff between your legs."
"Yes please." I'd been rock hard all morning, but the effect of seeing those knockers on my chest had given my prick the characteristics of a rod of steel.
"My, you are enjoying this, aren't you?" Marianne said, admiringly. "We'll have to do it more often."
I certainly didn't dissent from that idea.
"I think you'd better lie on your back," she said, "there's no way I want your weight on top of me. In fact I'm not enamoured with having sex with a man who looks like a pregnant woman.
"It's OK," she added as she sensed my horror, "but I'll turn my back on you, if you don't mind."
She did too, slipping off her shoes, jeans and panties, and then squatting over my bump facing my feet, and slowly sliding down it like a kid tobogganing down a snow drift.
"Mmm, you are hard," she murmured, as she eased herself onto my rod of iron. She leant backwards so her back curved around my bump, her hair tickling my chest.
"Oooh!" I grunted. That manoeuvre was certainly pushing my prick at a funny angle. Not exactly painful, but certainly not as pleasant as entering Marianne's cunt usually was.
"Mmm, that is good," she said, using her legs to push herself up my bump, and then sliding down again - and again - and again.
And so we both eventually came to orgasm - hers a crashing one that took her onto Cloud Nine; mine an urgent pumping, ejaculating gallons of semen, relieving my frustration, but without very much pleasure. I only hoped that was not to be the measure of things to come for the next two weeks.
"We have to work quickly, now," she said, slipping another disposable glove over her hand, dipping it into the tub of gel, and then lathering it all over my stomach and groin. When I obligingly turned over to kneel before her, she rubbed it over my buttocks, and between my legs.
Then, she took hold of my cock and slid it into a pocket on the inside of the gusset, and reached between my legs from behind and took the gusset in her hand.
"Say goodbye to your manhood," Marianne said, and pulled it hard back between my legs.
"Yeaow!" I screamed, for an instant doubled up with pain, but by the time I'd thought about it, the sensation of pain in my testicles was just a memory, and when I felt down where they should be, I had a hairy slit.
"That's right," Marianne said. "You now have a vagina. You'll be able to spread your legs, lay back and think of England."
But it wasn't just my replacement vagina that was unexpected; there was another sensation. I reached my hand up to cup my huge dangling breast.
"I can feel my breast," I said.
"Of course you can," Marianne said. "You're holding it in your hand."
"No, no," I said. "I meant my breast can feel my hand squeezing it."
I ran my other hand over my bump. "I can feel my hand tickling my stomach."
"They said in the blurb something about the torsolet having Sensotouch," Marianne said. "I thought they were bulling so I didn't bother with the adjustable version, which cost a lot more. I simply ordered the static one with sensitivity set to maximum.
"Ooh!" I gasped, as I rolled my grape-sized nipple between forefinger and thumb. "That was half painful and half erotic."
"Then you know how I feel when you do it to me," she said. "When you've stopped playing with yourself, do you want to stand up and we'll look at you properly in the mirror?"
"Bloody hell!" I said.
"Jipes!" Marianne said.
"It's good, isn't it?" I said.
"I'd never even guess you were a man," she said, "except for your haircut, and we'll sort that out later. Add a bit of make-up and you would fool anyone."
She was right. This was no man disguised as a pregnant woman facing me in the mirror. It was a pregnant woman. The fact was brought forcibly home to me just a few seconds later when I got a kick in the stomach.
"Jesus!" I gasped. "What was that?"
"I would guess that," Marianne said with a great deal of satisfaction, "was your baby giving you a firm kick, just to remind you she's always there."
"Bloody hell, I thought I was just going to wear a bulge," I said. "I didn't know it would have a football player inside. How often does it happen?"
"How should I know?" She was quite unsympathetic. "One of the reasons these things are so expensive is that they include little treats like your baby kicking you."
At last, I realised, I was beginning to understand what being pregnant was all about.
"What time did you say the hairdresser is arriving?" I asked.
"Just time for you to make yourself half decent," she said. "Let's get you fitted into a bra."
Marianne had brought several different bra sizes, and we'd spent quite a long time in trial and error before Marianne decided I was a 42-DD. She seemed to think that was an abhorrent measurement, whilst I, of course, thought it was superb.
The hairdresser came and spent ages on a completely restyle, and I now sported short, spiky, coppery-coloured hair. Afterwards, Tracey, the beautician, had returned and spent a long time with me experimenting upon the best shades of make-up to use. Then, she'd spent even longer showing me how to expertly apply it, until I became quite competent at making-up my own face.
When she'd left, Marianne produced a pack of pills. "Take one of these and let it rest on the back of the tongue until it melts," she said, "then swallow it."
"What is it?" I asked, always nervous of pills.
"They're voice-changer pills," she said. "They came with the Torsolet. They say they increase the tension in your voice chords in the same way as helium gas does. Take one of these twice a day, and you'll sound just like a woman."
I was highly suspicious, but I took one all the same. When I swallowed it, it felt as though my throat was being burnt away, but afterwards, my voice had certainly increased in pitch. I may not have sounded like many women I knew, but I certainly didn't sound like a man.
"The instructions say you need to practice," Marianne said. "I guess you'll have plenty of that. Now let's go upstairs."
She took me into the guest room, where she'd been assembling her collection of maternity outfits.
"What would you like to wear tonight, darling?" she asked, pointing to the clothes she'd spread over the bed.
"Um, well, I'm not really sure," I squeaked. It all seemed so complicated. As a bloke, I simply put on whatever came to hand, but I knew the time that Marianne spent deciding upon an outfit, and then changing her mind when she had it on, then trying on another one - and so on. "What do you suggest?"
She smiled. "I really think you have to learn to make up your own mind as a woman," she said. "Now is the best time to experiment a little."
"How about that dress?" I pointed at what I thought was probably the prettiest of the dresses she'd bought.
"That's a lovely dress," she said. "Absolutely wonderful for sitting outside in the garden on a warm evening like this."
She glanced out the window as she did so, and my eye followed hers out to the garden below, where our neighbours on both sides were taking advantage of a warm spring evening.
"Er, no," I hurriedly said. "Perhaps it would be better if we didn't sit outside tonight. How about that pretty dress?" I pointed to a rather more formal dress.
"That's a super choice," Marianne said. "Put that on and we can go out for a meal at that new Italian restaurant."
"Er, no," I said. "What about that skirt..." I pointed, "with that top?"
Marianne only had to say one word. "Dancing."
"Well, what then?"
Another smile. "Well, darling, if we're going to stay inside on a warm night like this, perhaps that simple matching floral top with the flared skirt?"
"Er, right," I said.
"It will go nicely with these wonderful heels you suggested," she added, picking up the red shoes from the floor.
"Oh!"
"Of course, if you're wearing those shoes, you simply must wear stockings to go with them..." she opened a drawer and pulled out a new pack, "and of course a suspender belt and matching panties. Perhaps a little formal for a quiet evening with just the two of us, but I do know how much you enjoy stockings and suspenders."
She left me to get dressed.
In fact, far from setting me up, as I suspected she was doing, she used the whole of the evening to coach me in the intricacies of being a woman.
"Learn to walk properly with your tallest heels," she told me, "and you'll be able to walk like a woman in any heels."
In fact, Marianne had to undergo a learning process as well, as she simply wasn't aware of the difficulties of how a woman moved with a 40 pound weight strapped to her stomach. There was a lot of trial and error, but by the end of the evening, I not only felt totally exhausted, I could waddle about fairly realistically like a pregnant woman; I could sit and, usually with a bit of help, stand up again. My voice started to sound more like a woman and we both felt I would probably pass without difficulty as a pregnant woman.
"That went fairly well, didn't it," I said to Marianne as I removed my top and skirt. I twisted around to undo my suspenders and slid my panties down my legs. Finally, I released my bra and let my huge tits swing free, bouncing against each other, delightfully quivering as they did so.
"How do I take off the torsolet?" I asked.
"Take it off?" Marianne said, a note of puzzlement in her voice. "You're wearing it for two weeks, not just for one evening."
"Yes but," I said, "I'll put it on again tomorrow, but I can't sleep with this weight strapped on me."
"Well you'd better get used to sleepless nights," Marianne said, "because that gel is an adhesive which will last for the whole two weeks. The torso is bonded to your skin until then, so there's no popping it on or off when you get fed up. You are a pregnant woman, so as they say, you can like it or lump it." She grinned at the pun which I failed to find at all humorous. "As you probably now realise, that's what pregnant women have to do all the time."
"But," I paused, uncertain how to put the question. Marianne could be tricky sometimes. "What about sex?"
"Darling, didn't you realise?" Marianne said. "Pregnant women do not have male genitals. Yours are safely tucked up inside the torsolet, which is all glued in place. They won't be coming out to play for the next fortnight!"
Shit! Shit! Shit! I smiled and said nothing.
The baby kicked me at regular intervals all through the night, and I barely slept a wink. Why the hell had I agreed to this? (Only if Marianne asks, I never said that, OK?)
To make up for my sleepless night, Marianne uncharacteristically fetched me a cup of tea after the alarm went off at seven. As always when you can't sleep all through the night, I then fell into a deep sleep and she almost had to pull me out of bed and push me in the shower in order for us to get off by nine-thirty.
Author's Notes: To those of you around the world who may not understand the derivation or even the meaning of "Up the Khyber" in the alternative title, I should explain that it's a phrase of Cockney Rhyming Slang, created in the 19th century to enable London street traders to talk cryptically in front of their customers. Typically, the slang comprises two associated words, such as butcher's hook, Bristol City, Berkshire Hunt or Khyber Pass. The word that was being hidden rhymed with the second of the two words, and usually - but not always - only the first was said.
So if you overhear someone say, "Have a butchers at those bristols," the translation is, "Have a butcher's (hook = look) at those Bristol (City = titty)s." It means they're admiring your breasts! I will leave the reader to work out the translation for: "That berk needs a kick up the khyber."
There are two interesting things about that last translation. Firstly, as (non-Cockney) kids, we often used the word "berk" in the hearing of our parents, with neither us nor them being aware of the real meaning! Secondly, depending upon the pronunciation of the word "Pass" associated with "Khyber", the slang conveniently provides the two words used on either side of the Atlantic for the same item. These Cockneys think of everything!
When first we practice to deceive
Synopsis: A pregnancy simulator seems an ideal way of convincing Paul's wife that pregnancy is really not that bad, and they agree to try it on holiday on Seacombe Moor. But it's not just the jailbreak from Seacombe Prison that turns everything upside down for Paul. This story is complete but is being serialised in six chapters, to be released at approximately daily intervals.
All people, places and events in this series are entirely fictional. If you need medical advice about pregnancy, consult a doctor rather than the pages of this fictional story.
Chapter 2 - Escape from 'The Moor'
Marianne drove us down to Seacombe in my Mondeo, rather than her BMW sports car. Normally, I found the Mondeo a comfortable car, but with a baby inside me kicking me every five minutes, the suspension seemed to make agony of every bump in the road. And with me having overslept, it seemed that Marianne was trying to make up for lost time by driving at breakneck speed.
After a while though, she calmed down, and settled down to a more appropriate speed for carrying her unborn child. I closed my eyes and let myself drift off to sleep again.
I was awakened by the blast on the horn from a car going in the opposite direction, and I felt the car suddenly swerve.
"Stupid idiot," Marianne said. "He was coming straight at me."
Behind, I could hear the sound of several vehicles colliding. I awkwardly twisted around in my seat. It looked like an almighty pile-up.
"Don't you think we ought to stop?"
"There's not much we can do. There'll be plenty of other drivers who will testify how crazily he was driving."
Right at the very back of my mind a little voice reminded me that Marianne, too, could sometimes drive crazily. But, I resolved that the back of my mind was where that thought was firmly going to stay. I closed my eyes again.
"What do you think of it?"
Marianne's words jerked me wide awake, and I stared at a gently-mellowed Georgian manor house built in an ivy-covered, brown stone.
"Are we here already?" I'd lost all track of time. I knew I'd been heavily asleep for some time and I'd had some vivid dreams, which I now struggled to remember.
"If by that you mean have you been sleeping for the last four hours whilst I've driven you non-stop all the way here, the answer is a definite yes." There was a smile on her face to take the sting out of her words.
"Sorry," I said. "I think the extra work in carrying our baby around has exhausted me."
"Well now you know how I'll feel."
Again, there was no sting to her words so I didn't bother to argue that she would probably have half the extra weight I currently had.
"It looks lovely," I said, nodding towards the manor house.
"You can see why I fell in love with it," Marianne said. "Check-in doesn’t start until two. Why don't we park the car and have a wander around for a few minutes until then?
"That is," she pointedly added, "if you feel up to it after your tiring journey."
I gave her a grin and confessed I might be able to have a walk around the park surrounding the house.
It was easy to see why Marianne had been so attracted to the place when she had come for the fashion shoot. The delightful wooded grounds were as enjoyable as the house itself, with a stream which tumbled over numerous waterfalls as it made its way down a little valley, to fill the duck pond situated directly in front of the house. We walked slowly up the valley for about ten minutes, before the extra weight I was carrying had me gasping for air.
"Can we sit down on this bench for a minute," I suggested to Marianne, heading for it before she had chance to walk past.
She grinned. "Not up to motherhood yet, Paul?" Then she hurriedly looked over her shoulder to make certain she hadn't been overheard. "Sorry. That was stupid of me. I won't make any more references to you-know-what."
We'd already agreed I would adopt Marianne's real first name for the whole of our stay here, regardless of whether anyone else was present; otherwise, we could give the game away by anybody overhearing a casual conversation.
I'd better explain about Marianne's names. When, she'd decided in her teens to go into modelling, she'd felt that her own name didn't sound right for a model. So, Anne Brown had turned into Marianne Black - just as decades before Pricilla White had changed her name to Cilla Black.
Our marriage further complicated things, and Marianne flicked between using Anne and Marianne, in combination with Black, Brown and my surname, Johnson, with an ease that left me hopelessly confused.
She had decided - and only told me last night - that I should use her Anne Johnson name, which would allow me to use one of her bank accounts in that name. She'd already ordered new credit and debit cards on that account, so I now had (slightly illegal, I expect) bank cards in the name of Anne Johnson, which bore my new signature.
In the meantime, she would continue to be Marianne Johnson, and if asked, we would say we were sisters. Marianne normally loved to be recognised in public and she nearly always used her professional surname, but she'd decided that for this occasion she didn't want people asking too many questions about her. I thought it was all probably over the top, but agreed the bank cards would be useful if we got separated at any time.
She glanced at her watch. "Look, it's almost two. Why don't I go back to reception and check in whilst you stay here. We don't want to overtax you, after all."
That sounded an excellent suggestion, so Marianne set off downhill and I made myself more comfortably and closed my eyes a little. This pregnancy thing really was a tiring business.
"I think the term is snap."
I hurriedly opened my eyes to stare at the smiling face of a woman, standing just a yard in front of me.
"Sorry?" I stuttered. This was my first real encounter with someone who didn't know my situation. It was far scarier than I'd anticipated. Had she seen through me straightaway?
"Snap," she repeated, standing back a little so I could see her properly. She was pregnant! And not just pregnant, but heavily pregnant as well, although her bump was nothing like as big as my maxi bump.
"Hello," I said, inwardly delighted that I'd passed my very first test. "Are you staying here?"
She nodded, and plonked herself down on the bench next to me. "That's right. I arrived about an hour ago, and I've been wandering the grounds waiting to check in. They're very delightful, but also quite tiring."
I nodded, pleased it wasn't just me that got tired so easily. "My sister has just gone down to check us in. Is that where your husband is?"
She grimaced. "My husband is about two hundred miles away. We're getting divorced."
"Then it's snap again," I said. "Only I haven't a clue where my ex disappeared to." Another part of the pretence Marianne had worked out to avoid awkward questions.
"To be rather mercenary," she said, "I'm glad you're not with a partner. It looks like most of the other guests are young couples staying here on romantic breaks. I was beginning to despair."
Actually, I too felt relieved there was another pregnant woman here. "I was thinking the same," I said. "Incidentally, I'm Anne Johnson, and my sister is Marianne Johnson."
She smiled and held out her hand for me to shake. "I'm Sharon Smith. Are you booked into the hotel or the bungalows?"
"The bungalows," I said. The bungalows were scattered around the hotel grounds, and whilst still enjoying all the hotel facilities, it did mean guests had more personal space, complete with their own patio area. "With me being pregnant, we thought it would give us more privacy. In fact, we're booked into one of the rooms for disabled, so there'd be no steps to fall down."
"Me too!" Sharon said, with a delighted grin on her face. "I think that means we'll be next door to each other."
"Great!" I said. And I meant it. In just the few minutes we'd been talking, I'd got to like Sharon. The fact that she was pregnant did not detract from her being a very attractive woman, tall with well-rounded breasts which, although not quite as large as mine, were certainly attractively large and quivered delightedly with every movement. Being a heavily-pregnant woman, I realised, had not stopped me finding other women attractive.
"Is this Marianne coming now?" Sharon asked, nodding her head behind me.
I glanced around and saw Marianne striding towards us, giving us both a really nice smile.
"That's right," I said, and raised my voice so she could hear. "Marianne, this is Sharon Smith, and it sounds as though she'll be in the bungalow next to us. Isn't that marvellous?"
"Great!" she said, clutching Sharon's proffered hand and shaking it warmly. "She'll be good company for you."
"So will you, Marianne," I said, wondering why she'd put it like that. After all, it was Sharon, here on her own, who'd be more appreciative of our company.
Marianne hesitated and then said, "I'm sorry, Anne. I've just had a call on my mobile. There's an urgent job just come up in Bath. I'm going to have to go there straightaway, for a shoot tomorrow morning."
Hell and damnation! "But you can't leave me here on my own," I stuttered.
"We did agree I might have to pop off now and again," she said. "I simply didn't realise it would be so soon after we arrived. I'm sorry sis. Still, fortunately you've found a new friend already, so you won't be on your own." She turned towards Sharon. "You'll look after her, Sharon, won't you?"
"We can look after each other," Sharon said with a smile. She turned to me, "We could form The Pudding Club."
That sounded like fun, the kind of thing we'd have done as kids, and I couldn't stop my anger from melting away and smiling like a Cheshire Cat.
"Marianne," Sharon added, "I've got to go down to Reception to check in, and the walk is a bit much for me on my own. You couldn't walk down there with me, could you?"
"No problem, Sharon. Here, let me help you up." Marianne reached out her hand so Sharon could more easily rise off the bench, an offer which Sharon gratefully accepted.
"Are you going to help me up as well, Marianne?" I pointedly asked.
"Of course." She held out her hand and it took much more of a pull to get my tremendous weight off the seat.
Marianne handed me the key to bungalow and went back to Reception with Sharon. I heard Sharon asking whether, since Marianne was going to shoot someone, she was a paid assassin? I felt slightly jealous that Marianne appeared to take more care in helping Sharon than she did me; then I realised that Sharon was really pregnant whereas I was just an imposter. Still, it didn't help in carrying this bloody great load around
"So your sister is Marianne Black?"
We were sitting outside on our patio, drinking some of the home-made lemonade we'd found in the fridge. Hell, I could have done with a proper drink, but pregnant women kept off alcohol. That, I realised, was going to be another tough part about being pregnant.
Marianne had already departed, and we'd spent a little time unpacking our luggage before agreeing to meet for drinks on the patio outside the door of her bungalow. And after a bit of small chat, Sharon had come out with that rather embarrassing question.
"She is," I admitted, "although normally she likes to keep it quiet, otherwise she gets too much attention." Obviously, Marianne hadn't kept her mouth shut about her profession, as we'd agreed; if Sharon knew anything of Marianne Black's history, it might lead to my early exposure. Damn Marianne!
"How exciting," she said. "I was wondering whether..."
But whatever she was wondering was cut off by the sound of a siren wailing, some distance away.
"What's that?" I asked. "A fire?"
Sharon shook her head. "I think it probably warns that someone has broken out of The Moor."
"You mean the prison?"
Sharon nodded, and said with a grin. "Presumably it means we have to look out for a man carrying a ball and chain with arrows printed all over his suit."
I glanced around. We were quite separate from the main hotel buildings. "Do you think we're safe sitting outside here?"
Sharon shrugged. "Seacombe Moor's hardly a top security prison where they take violent offenders. I don't think an escaped prisoner will see two pregnant women as much of a threat to his freedom. In any case, the prison is miles away. Let's stay out here."
But her complacency was shattered a few minutes later when the hotel manager came around. "I'm sorry ladies; we've just heard that a prisoner has escaped from a prison van not too far from here, and that his accomplices had guns. Could I suggest you come down and wait in the main hotel building until we hear more?"
I thought: A prison van? That's strange, although I couldn't explain why it felt strange.
"It might be hours," Sharon protested, "and I really need some rest. Couldn't we lock ourselves into one of our bungalows?"
The manager looked a little doubtful, but admitted we would be perfectly secure inside, with the shutters bolted across the windows. So, he made us secure both our premises and Sharon and I went into her bungalow, which was almost identical to mine, and promised not to open the door without checking first with Reception on the house phone.
"So here we are in a locked room," Sharon giggled in a way I found incredibly sexy. "What can we do with ourselves?"
I certainly knew what I'd like to do with her, if only I hadn't been wearing the Pregnancy Torsolet.
"Did you bring a swimming costume with you?" Sharon asked. "With this sudden heat wave, I thought we ought to make the most of it. That swimming pool looked rather nice for tomorrow. And once we're in the water, it doesn't matter if we look like porpoises."
"I didn't bring a costume," I said. "I thought I'd look simply terrible." Actually it was the thought of prancing around as a half-naked woman that had really made me tell Marianne there was no way I was going to go swimming.
"I have a spare costume," Sharon said. "You could borrow that. Come and look at it."
She led the way into the bedroom, and I followed - part of me frustrated that, as a woman, I couldn't take advantage of being led into the bedroom of a sexy, albeit pregnant, woman; the other part relieved that there was no chance in betraying Marianne's trust in me.
And then a little thought passed through my mind: Marianne had always declared we had a modern relationship, so temporarily enjoying a good bonking with someone else was perfectly acceptable.
But then another thought said that since I was a pregnant woman, I could hardly contemplate having sex with another pregnant woman.
But there again, another little thought said it would be nice.
In any case, I reasoned, by going into Sharon's bedroom, I was only behaving how any woman would.
"I bought two," Sharon explained, "as I didn't know how much more I'd grow. I'm certain the bigger one will be fine for you." She opened one of her drawers and I had quick glimpse of frilly underwear before she pulled out a grey swimsuit, shut the drawer and slowly stood up.
"Here." She thrust the swimsuit into my hands. "Try it on."
"Right," I said, and hesitated as she stood looking at me. "You mean now?"
"Well of course I mean now," Sharon said. "Look, I'll put mine on as well so we can see how well we coordinate together." Without more ado, she unbuttoned the front of the smock she was wearing, pulled it off and dropped it on the bed. She reached behind her and unfastened her bra, letting her wonderful breasts wobble free. They were exceptionally firm and it was as much as I could do to stop myself reaching out and cupping them in my hands.
"Get a move on," she said, turning her back on me as she got her other swimsuit out of the drawer.
With her back temporarily turned, I pulled my own smock over my head.
"I was really pleased the way this swimsuit doesn't make me look too much like a whale," Sharon said. "I think we'll look great together. Do you want me to unhook your bra?" This, she added as she saw me struggling behind my back to remove it.
"Thanks," I said. "I'm simply not as agile as I was a month ago." I obediently turned and she unhooked my bra and I let it slide down my arms and onto the bed.
"What wonderful breasts you have," Sharon said. "They're much larger than mine but are just as firm. I'm really quite proud of the way mine have grown without getting slack. What do you think?"
"I think they're wonderful," I said.
"But your breasts are stupendous and those nipples are something to die for," Sharon said. "I bet they're very sensitive. Do you mind if I just..."
Without waiting for an answer, she bent over and licked my left nipple.
"Yeraoohh!" I gasped. That Sensotouch facility Marianne had talked about was fantastic. She'd said something about touch-sensitive skin, like a computer screen, with the signals then amplified and fed to tiny electrodes on the skin. It was mind blowing.
"I was right. They are sensitive. Is your other nipple the same?"
"Erhhh!" It was. My legs felt very unsteady, so I sat down heavily on the bed.
"My poor dear," Sharon said, "your nipples haven't been getting proper attention without a husband."
"Well, no, but..."
"You're on Seacombe Moor, now - on holiday. It's time to forget your inhibitions. Allow me." This time she closed her lips over my nipple and sucked it into her mouth.
"Agghh!" It was divine; there were fireworks starting to explode in my head. They multiplied in intensity when Sharon switched to the other nipple and suddenly I was into a crashing orgasm which went on and on as Sharon alternately sucked and licked.
"Sharon. That was beautiful," I groaned, as I gradually came back down to earth.
"Glad to be of service," she said. "But you could return the favour."
She hovered above me and slowly lowered her breasts down onto my face.
Now whilst I had absolutely no experience of having my nipples sucked and licked, I certainly did have experience at doing the sucking and licking.
"Mmm," she said."That is nice. Now I reckon I can always tell when a girl has licked nipple before, and you certainly have, haven't you?"
I nodded, my mouth too full to answer.
"And here's me thinking I'd have to seduce you so carefully, when all along you're a bi," she said.
"Well, not really..." I started to say, then realised it was simply better to suck nipple and say nothing.
"After that, I think I could eat a horse. How about you?"
I hadn't thought about food until that moment, but I suddenly realised I hadn't eaten since a very early breakfast. "Sounds good. But with the prisoner on the loose, are we allowed to walk to the hotel on our own?"
Sharon shrugged. "We can telephone Reception and get someone to come over to escort us. Presumably you want to get back into your room in order to dress. Do you want me to walk round with you?"
I hadn't thought of getting dressed for dinner until then, but I realised that was something a woman in a hotel would always do. Although rather nervous of going out of the door on my own with an armed escaped convict on the run, I was about to instinctively reject the offer from a pregnant woman - as any bloke would - but then I remembered I had to act in character. "You could just watch me from your door and telephone for help if I need it."
"No problem." She gave another shrug. "But there's no way that someone who escapes from a prison van just up the road is going to hang around a hotel here waiting to get caught. He'll be long way away, by now - probably on a boat heading to France."
What she said made perfect sense, but I was still a little nervous as I stepped out of Sharon's front door and walked over to mine. The manager had made me lock my door before going into Sharon's, so I felt reasonably safe once I was inside. But that didn't stop me doing a thorough search of the bungalow, just in case.
We'd agreed we'd be ready to leave in thirty minutes. I smiled at that. If I had really been Marianne, there was no way I'd be ready in that time. It would take longer than that to choose an outfit. But Marianne had instructed me back home about what clothes to wear for what occasion, so I reckoned it would be a simple decision - something a man could do without problems. All I really had to do was to shower off the sweat I'd built up during that wonderful girly tumble with Sharon, and then put on my rather pretty dress, which so nicely displayed my breasts. With any luck, Sharon would be so entranced by them over dinner, there'd be some fantastic treats for afters!
When first we practice to deceive
Synopsis: A pregnancy simulator seems an ideal way of convincing Paul's wife that pregnancy is really not that bad, and they agree to try it on holiday on Seacombe Moor. But it's not just the jailbreak from Seacombe Prison that turns everything upside down for Paul. This story is complete but is being serialised in six chapters, to be released at approximately daily intervals.
All people, places and events in this series are entirely fictional. If you need medical advice about pregnancy, consult a doctor rather than the pages of this fictional story.
Chapter 3 - On the Run and Up the Khyber
"Ladies and gentlemen. Could I have your attention for a few minutes?" The pleasant hubbub of conversation in the restaurant died out as the hotel manager spoke. "I'd like to bring you up to date over the prison escape, this afternoon, and the police would like to speak to anyone who might have witnessed anything.
"As I'm sure you all know by now, the escape was from a prison van only a mile up the road from here, at about one-thirty, this afternoon. A gang of phoney workmen diverted the van into the loop road over the old bridge."
"Blimey," I muttered. "That's strange."
"The gang then held up the guards with what we now know were imitation firearms. The guards were tied up and put into the back of the van as the prisoner was released, and it took some time for the alarm to be raised."
A worried murmur went through the diners, and the manager hurriedly continued. "The guns were left at the scene of the crime, so fortunately we don't have to worry about armed gunmen. The police believe they are still in the Seacombe area, but they are not dangerous. If anyone has any suspicions about their whereabouts, or if you were driving anywhere on this side of the moor between one pm and two, please contact the police. Thank you for your time; now please enjoy your meals."
"But this man is a paedophile, isn't he?" a thin woman with her husband and two children asked from the other side of the restaurant. "Our children are in danger."
The manager looked embarrassed. "The man was convicted of looking at pornographic images on his computer. The police say there is absolutely no evidence he has ever harmed a child."
"It doesn't mean to say he won't do it, though, does it?" the thin woman retorted.
"The police stress there is absolutely no reason to believe he will harm anyone unless cornered."
"Well they would do, wouldn't they?" said a short, fat woman at the next table, with one child. "I mean, they don't want to affect the holiday trade, do they? Even if it means our children getting murdered."
There was a angry buzz of agreement from the other parents, and the situation may well have got worse, but one of the kids started to yell his head off, and then a couple more joined in. As parents tended to their children, the rebellion fizzled out and the manager gratefully retired.
"What were you muttering about?" Sharon said.
"I saw them," I said. "When we were almost here. There was some crazy driver who caused an accident behind us. Then we overtook the prison van just before we turned off the main road. A minute later, we passed the workmen cordoning off the approach to the bridge. Marianne gave a toot on the horn to warn them of our approach."
"I thought you said you'd been fast asleep all the way here," she said.
"The accident woke me up, and that policeman reminded me about the prison van and the road workers. I thought I'd been dreaming it all," I said, "but I must have been half asleep and saw what was happening. I'd better go and find the police."
"Before you do, let's just clear your head so you can give a better picture. Can you describe the workmen?"
I closed my eyes and said, "There were only two of them and they were wearing yellow jackets and helmets."
"You mean like any road worker."
"Well, yes but..." I paused, closing my eyes and trying to remember. I shook my head. "I can't think of anything else about them. They were just ordinary workmen."
"Anne?" Sharon said in a rather cautious voice.
"What?"
"There is something else you need to consider."
"What?"
She hesitated and then launched in. "Look, it's difficult to say this, but I get the impression you're holding back some big secret."
Bloody hell, I'd been sussed.
"It's alright," she reassured me as I struggled to respond. "I mean, we're simply having a holiday fling; there's no reason why you should open your entire life to me; nor me to you. But..." She paused again.
"It occurs to me that if I feel you're holding something back, then it's odds on the police will too. But they're likely to get quite officious if they can't get to the root of it, and take you back to the police station so you can help them with their enquiries."
"They wouldn't, would they?"
I was having difficulty keeping the panic out of my voice. Hell, Sharon was absolutely right. What a fool I was to imagine I could get away with this. And what then? When they discovered I was a man pretending to be a pregnant woman? Could I be prosecuted for wasting police time? It would all come out in court, and the hostility we had just seen would be turned on me.
"Look, Anne," Sharon said, noticing my anxiety. "It's not as if you saw anything of use in catching them. Is there any point in speaking with the police? Why don't you just keep quiet about it? If you like, I'll answer any questions for the two of us."
"But they're asking for anyone driving on the moor between one and two. We arrived just after half past one."
"Then say you arrived just before one," she suggested, "as I did. If you like, I can say we arrived together and give you an alibi."
I gasped at her, overwhelmed by her generosity. "Would you really do that for me? Even though you think I haven't told you everything?"
She smirked. "After what you did to me this afternoon? I need some more of that and I won't get it if you're rotting in a police cell."
"God! Thank you, Sharon."
"Well why don't you show your thanks in a more appropriate way? Rather than having coffee here, why don't we have it in the room?"
I nodded. I didn't bother to ask whether she meant having coffee in the room or something else altogether. "You bet."
We got stopped by the police as we were about to step outside!
"Excuse me."
I managed not to jump through the roof. We both turned to view the police-woman walking towards us.
"Yes. Can we help?" Sharon said, bless her.
She smiled. "I'm PC Sally Wright. Could I check your names off the guest list and ask you a few questions?" She was really so nice, I wouldn't have minded helping her with her enquiries.
"I'm Sharon Smith, and this is Anne Johnson."
Sally checked her list and gave us both ticks, then glanced around the foyer and asked, "There's a Ms Marianne Johnson booked in with you, Ms Johnson. I understand she's your sister, is that right? Was she in the dining room with you?"
"She's had to leave," I said. "Something came up with her job."
"OK," Sally said, putting a cross on her list, and then said to the two of us, "Are your partners not here?"
Gunk! Now it was going to get complicated.
"They're our ex-partners, actually," Sharon said, "so the answer is definitely no."
"Men are such bastards," Sally said, surprising me with her vehemence, then added: "I see all three of you checked in just after two. Presumably, you'd arrived a few minutes before?"
"Naw," Sharon said, with a shake of her head, as I was only just realising it was a trick question. Answer yes to that and there'd be a dozen more to follow.
"They don't allow check-in before two," Sharon continued, "and we got here just before one, so we wandered around the grounds for a while. Then Anne went to sleep on a bench until it was time to check-in."
"OK," Sally smiled at Sharon. "Thanks for your help, Sharon. You too Ms Johnson," she added, giving me a little glance, before turning back to Sharon. "I may need to speak to you again. Is that alright?"
Oh bloody hell! She was suspicious!
"I'll look forward to it," Sharon said with another smile. How the hell did she manage to smile like that at a time like this?
"It's always good when the public cooperate fully," Sally said.
"I think you'll find I'm very cooperative," Sharon said.
It hit me straight between the eyes. PC Sally Wright was as bloody gay as Sharon. They were making an assignation. And I was bloody jealous!
"She's a lesbian."
Sharon gave me a glance as we walked towards our bungalow. "You sound shocked. You know people in glasshouses shouldn't throw stones."
"Yes but..." I could hardly say that I was a man so my desires were perfectly conventional.
"But?" Sharon asked
"Nothing," I said. "I'm sorry. I have no right to be shocked."
"But you are rather jealous?"
"Yes."
Sharon smiled. "Good. I'm glad I mean something to you. I played up to Sally so she'd remember me and not you. To take the heat off you, remember?"
I nodded. "I'm really grateful." We'd arrived at the door of Sharon's bungalow.
"Will you come in and show me how grateful."
Marianne rang me on my mobile a few minutes later. "Hi," she said, "it's me. I've just got to the hotel. I had a hell of a journey."
"Hi Marianne, "I said, and added, "Sharon's here," to warn her I wouldn't be able to talk freely. "We're just having coffee." We were too, as a prejunct to a round of sex. After all, I wouldn't lie to Marianne.
"That's good. Done anything interesting this afternoon?"
"Not really," I said. OK, I would lie to Marianne but then I was pretty certain she'd lied to me about what happened on her fashion shoots.
"Except that a convict has escaped from the prison," I continued. "I think we must have passed where it happened on the way just before we arrived. But I didn't really see anything and Sharon feels it's probably not a good idea to go bothering the police."
"I'm sure she's right," Marianne replied. "It could lead to embarrassment all round." (Fortunately, she didn't emphasise the "all round" too much, but I knew exactly what she meant.)
"I certainly can't remember seeing anything unusual," she continued. "In any case, I was interviewed by the police on my return journey. I got caught in the tailback from that accident we saw on the way."
"That sounds bad," I said, thinking about the interview with the police rather than the accident.
"The entire road was blocked in both directions for miles. I was stuck for over an hour, by which time the police came along, telling us about the jailbreak, and searching every car and interviewing everyone."
"What did you tell them?" I asked, my fingers mentally crossed.
"Not much. They simply asked where I was going and why."
"Sharon thought we arrived just before one," I said, putting the words into Marianne's mouth.
"That sounds about right," Marianne agreed, catching on quickly. "The police didn't ask me about the journey up, this morning." (Which, of course, meant our stories wouldn't contradict. Thank heavens.)
"OK," I said. "Take care of yourself. When will you be back? Monday?"
There was a pause. "Er, I'm not certain yet. It may drag on for a few days, but I'll definitely be back by the weekend."
"The weekend, Marianne!" I yelled. "You can't leave me here..."
My flow was interrupted by Sharon, who leant over, pulled down the front of my dress and applied her lips to my nipple.
"Sorry," Marianne said. "Give my love to Sharon," and she rang off.
My anger seemed to have melted away as Sharon sucked alternately on each nipple.
I'd expected that our evening session would be very similar to our afternoon session. My God was I in for a shock!
"I think it's time you took some male replacement therapy," Sharon said, pulling me into the bedroom, opening one of her drawers and taking something out. "What do you say to this?" She waved a dildo at me, and I goggled a bit. It looked frighteningly realistic.
"It's a strap-on," she added, "so you and I absolutely do not need a male to be involved in our sex lives."
"I'm not really certain," I said hesitantly. Marianne had told me the torsolet had a proper vagina, but I wasn't certain whether it would fool such an expert on the subject as Sharon.
"Oh, of course, I was forgetting," she said.
"Forgetting?"
"SIDS."
"Sid's what?" I was confused.
"Sudden Infant Death Syndrome. That's what you're worried about, isn't it?" she said. "The school of thought that blames higher infant mortality upon penetrative vaginal sex during the later stages of pregnancy."
Blimey! Was I? I didn't know anything about that, but then I guessed that a pregnant woman would certainly know all about it.
"You see, I haven't used this on a pregnant woman before," she continued.
She considered some and then added, "Of course, we could do it the other way."
"Other way?" But I thought I knew what she was getting at.
"Oh, you're such an innocent," she scoffed. "But how were you and your husband having sex before he left you? You surely haven't been risking your unborn child?"
"Of course not." I was indignant - there was no way I would do that, even though my real child was not yet conceived. "No, well, we didn't have sex for quite some..."
"Then I'd better bring you up to speed upon the delights you've been missing. I think as long as your partner uses her fingers to give you clitoral stimulation, it's every bit as good as having it up your vagina."
"But Sharon, I'm not sure..." I started to say, but she only had to put her hands onto my breasts beneath my dress, and tweak my nipples with her thumbs, and my words faltered to a halt.
I'd never before realised how much pleasure there was in being rogered up the back passage. For the first time, I understood the attractions of male homosexuality. Mind you, I still had no desire for sex with a male, whereas anal sex with Sharon was unbelievably good, even if it started off - as I guess it usually does - in a rather painful way.
"The more you relax," Sharon said, "the less it will hurt."
I was kneeling on the bed with my legs apart, and my face buried in a pillow, with my huge tum resting on the bed. Sharon had her hand between my legs and was using her fingers mercilessly on my clitoris - and yes, the Pregnancy Torsolet actually had one. At least, I had something down there which, with the Sensotouch, felt divine whenever it was stroked.
"I have some oil on my fingers now. I'm going to work it around your passage. It won't hurt a bit."
It didn't. Not even when the finger slipped inside and I gasped - with excitement, not pain.
"OK, my love," Sharon said. "I have the thing strapped on me now so it will be just like your ex giving you one, as I ease inside you."
Ease inside me she did, so carefully that it didn't hurt more than (say) a red-hot poker being shoved up. But I gritted my teeth and stayed as relaxed as I could. Once inside, it felt alright and in fact, as she slowly moved in and out, it felt bloody good. She started thrusting harder - and faster - and harder still. It became exquisite. Just like normal hetero sex, but with my partner doing all the work and me just enjoying the sensation as I approached my orgasm.
"Go on, Sharon. Harder! Harder! Don't stop." I encouraged her, just as Marianne might encourage me. "Fuck me. Oh, go on, fuck me hard. Harder! Harder!"
As the orgasm hit me I started to scream so much that Sharon put her fingers across my lips until I'd calmed down. "There, there, there; we don't want people to think you're being raped by a paedophile gaol breaker."
After I'd regained my senses, we switched on the TV in time to watch the regional news, and see what was said about the escape. Very little we didn't already know, except for one fact which set me thinking.
"...Police were anxious to reassure people in the area. They say the prisoner was not regarded as a high-risk prisoner and is not considered dangerous; he has no record of molesting children and, whilst imitation weapons were used in the hold up, they were left at the scene. Sean Brown has served six months out of an eight-year sentence for viewing pornographic images on the internet.
"Council taxes in Exeter may rise by up to..."
"That's strange," I said.
"You're muttering again. What's strange?"
"Only that the prisoner has the same name as my brother-in-law."
Sharon looked at me. "What? Brown? That's hardly uncommon."
"Sean Brown," I corrected.
"Even that is hardly unique. There must be thousands of Sean Browns in the UK. I presume you mean your ex-husband's brother?"
"What?" I was taken by surprise, and was about to add I meant Marianne's brother, but stopped myself in time. If Marianne was my sister, it would mean that Sean was my brother as well. Instead I said, "Yes of course."
"Surely you must have seen him sometime during the last six months. This Sean Brown has been in prison that long."
"But no," I said. "That's just it. I've never seen him. He's supposedly been in Africa for years. He's a volunteer aid worker wherever the latest humanitarian disaster is happening."
"Even if your brother-in-law really was the jail breaker," Sharon continued, "does it matter? You've divorced your husband - you don't get to keep the brother-in-law - more's the pity. I've had some great sex with mine."
This was getting ridiculous. "No, of course not. My mind's working in strange ways. It must be the influence you're having on me. Shall we have sex again?"
She didn't say anything - simply gave me a look that said it all.
When first we practice to deceive
Synopsis: A pregnancy simulator seems an ideal way of convincing Paul's wife that pregnancy is really not that bad, and they agree to try it on holiday on Seacombe Moor. But it's not just the jailbreak from Seacombe Prison that turns everything upside down for Paul. This story is complete but is being serialised in six chapters, to be released at approximately daily intervals.
All people, places and events in this series are entirely fictional. If you need medical advice about pregnancy, consult a doctor rather than the pages of this fictional story.
Chapter 4 - Probed by the Police
"Good afternoon ladies. I wonder if I could have a word?"
"Of course."
I had my back to the speaker and it was Sharon who answered. But I knew from the way it was said that this was the police. Fortunately, I had time to control my looks before turning to face the policeman who stood there.
It was mid-afternoon on Sunday. We'd been sitting on her patio in the hot sunshine, drinking lemonade and talking idly about all kinds of things. We'd just decided to go for a swim in the pool, so I had reluctantly gone inside my bungalow to put on the costume that Sharon leant me. Now, I stood facing her, as she tried to convince me I looked respectable.
But the policeman's eyes as they travelled down my body showed I was anything but, and, as I saw the desire appear in his eyes, I realised I didn't care. What's more, my reaction to his lust gave me a courage which had been previously lacking.
"We spoke to PC Sally Wright yesterday," I said. "I'm not certain there's anything else we can tell you."
"I'm PC Bull," he said. "And when PC Wright interviewed you, she marked you down for a follow up investigation." (Well, that was hardly a surprise after Sharon outrageously flirted with her!)
"Isn't she here?" I queried. "She was very understanding about our condition."
"I shall be just as understanding, I can assure you," he said. "But it's quite normal for follow ups to be done by another officer, in case they pick up something the first missed. So, shall we go inside where it's probably a bit cooler?" He looked exceptionally hot in his thick uniform. He gesticulated towards the door to Sharon's bungalow.
We had no choice so Sharon led the way, I followed and PC Bull brought up the rear. Sharon and I took a seat on the settee, and Bull sat on an upright chair by the table.
Sharon started the questioning, which clearly took Bull by surprise. "So, PC Bull. Don't you have a first name?"
"First name? Er, why do you want to know that?"
"You said you were going to be understanding. Using first names is a way of showing compassion. I'm Sharon and this is Anne. Now, what's your name?"
He looked a bit sheepish. "Richard, miss."
"It's Sharon, not miss, if you please," Sharon said. She eyed him up and down and then added with a grin, "I bet they call you Big Dick, don't they? Someone of your size?"
That surprised me, as he didn't seem particularly tall for a policeman, and he visibly jumped at the remark. Then he grinned back at her and said, "Only a few of my closer acquaintances call me that."
The two of them were smirking like Cheshire cats, and I was left feeling completely in the dark. What on Earth were they talking about? I gave him another glance up and down and that's when it hit me between the eyes - well, it didn't actually do that, you understand, as I'm certain you are already ahead of me on the particular part of Richard's anatomy which was large. Now I looked at it, it seemed enormous. Surely, he must be one of those freaks who stuffed rolled-up handkerchiefs into his pants. No man could have a prick that big, surely...
"Now Dick, would you like some home-made lemonade?" Sharon asked with a smile
"That sounds very nice, mi... Sharon. It's very hot outside."
"Then could I ask you to get some out of the fridge, and bring glasses for us all. And please take off that heavy jacket. It's making me feel hot just to look at you."
Bloody hell, the double entendres were coming out! Of course, now I'd had time to think about it, Sharon was doing to Dick what she had done for Sally, the previous evening. Making certain she was the centre of attention, rather than me. I had to give it to her, and no doubt would after we'd got rid of Big Dick.
I smiled at the two of them. Dick was clearly disconcerted by having to serve drinks to pregnant women, but realised he had no choice.
"No problem."
He got up, removed his jacket, prepared the drinks and then came back and handed them to us. I noticed as Sharon leaned forward to take hers, his eyes locked onto her deep cleavage.
"Shameless little hussy," I thought. "You wouldn't catch me displaying myself like that." Then a surge of excitement ran through me as a tiny voice replied, "Why not?"
"Your drink, Anne." Dick said as he passed the drink towards me.
I said, "Thank you, Dick," and leaned right forward to take it. I kept my eyes firmly on the glass, and managed to take it from his fingers as his hand started to shake.
"So Dick," Sharon said, "ask away."
"I'd like you to go again over the events yesterday between one and two pm. Now, PC Wright says that three of you travelled down together from London - you two, plus Anne's sister, Marianne Johnson. Is that correct?"
Well, of course, he'd got that wrong. I was about to correct him and say that Sharon had travelled separately by train, as we didn't know each other before yesterday when I noticed Sharon give a little shake of her head.
"Yes, it is," I said, realising as I obeyed her signal that she was now giving me an alibi for the whole day. "We arrived a few minutes before one pm, then we wandered around the grounds until check-in started at two. I know I went to sleep for a few minutes..."
"Thirty minutes," Sharon interjected.
"It wasn't as long as that, was it Sharon?" I asked.
She nodded, "Yes."
Dick nodded and ticked something in his notebook. "So what time do you think your sister started her journey back to London?"
"It must have been about half past two," Sharon said. "We checked in just after two, and then she carried the suitcases up from the car..."
I'd enjoyed seeing Marianne do that, whilst Sharon and I had sat on the patio and watched. She'd had to carry Sharon's suitcase even further, from where the taxi driver had dumped it, next to Reception. I could see she was seething with anger at me, but there was nothing she could say.
"...Then she helped us get organised in the bungalows, and stayed for a few minutes," Sharon concluded. "So would you say about half past two, Anne?"
"That sounds about right," I said, speaking with absolute truth for the first time.
"And your sister's name is Marianne Johnson?" He'd already asked me that, but he asked it rather differently this time, as though the name suddenly meant something to him.
"Yes," I said, whilst thinking, "Please, please, please, don't make the connection between Marianne Johnson and Marianne Black."
"Of course," Dick said. "I remember interviewing her on the road yesterday."
I was nonplussed. "You did?"
"That's right." He was flicking back through his notebook. "Yes, here it is. She was in a car stuck in the traffic jam near the accident." He suddenly grinned. "She's very attractive, isn't she?"
"Yes," I smiled back, and managed to bite back the words: "That was why I married her."
Then he said something which shook me to the core. "Her husband is quite a good-looking guy, as well, isn't he. The two of them appeared a very attractive couple sitting in that car, yesterday."
What did he say? I struggled to make sense of it.
Meanwhile Sharon covered for me, sensing I was upset by his remark. "He certainly is attractive," she said, ad-libbing like mad. "I quite fancy him for myself when Marianne finishes with him. But I'm surprised a man like you should look at him." The implication in the remark was evident.
"Looking out for the escaped prisoner," he justified. "We have to look very carefully at everyone's face."
He grinned. "We've even occasionally had 'em pretending to be women, but you can usually tell them." He stared directly at me.
He's sussed me! I thought, somehow managing to return a nice smile.
"Some have even tried stuffing a cushion up their jumper to look pregnant," he added, staring carefully at my breasts, clearly wondering whether they could possibly have been stuck on without a noticeable join.
"You appear very fascinated by our breasts," Sharon said, with an even nicer smile.
I think his mouth opened almost as wide as my own, although it didn't take me long to work out why she said it - she'd seen I was upset about Marianne having a man in the car and was trying to create a diversion, not even realising the real secret I was hiding. I wondered whether Dick would realise he was being led on.
"I'm sorry," he said, blushing deeply. "I didn't mean to cause any offence, but er..."
"And none taken," Sharon said. "I must say, I'm rather proud of what pregnancy has done for my breasts." She reached up both hands to the shoulder straps of her swimming costume and pulled them down her arms until her breasts popped out from beneath. "There. What do you say to those beauties?"
"They're gorgeous," Dick gasped.
"Well, if you think these are beautiful, you should take a look at Anne's. They are even more splendid." She turned to me. "Anne, pull your costume down so Dick can look properly."
"What?" I'd been thinking that Marianne had been in the car with another man pretending to be me, whilst at the same time, a prisoner with the same name as Marianne's brother had escaped from prison and was trying to get away from the area. Was I putting two and two together and making five?
"Oh, don't be such a prude." Sharon obviously couldn't know what was going on inside my head; presumably, she was imagining I suspected my sister was having an affair with another man. On the other hand, Marianne probably was having an affair with another man, and it was nothing to do with helping her brother escape prison. I'd always known she had lots of frolics and fun on these shoots, which is why I didn't feel too guilty about my frolics with Sharon.
"You're pregnant, after all," Sharon continued. "It's hardly as though your tits have never been seen by a male."
I suddenly realised that her diversion tactics would not only cover my turmoil over Marianne, they would also prove to Dick I had no cushion shoved into my swimming costume.
"OK," I said, "although I'm sure Dick has seen far more wonderful breasts than mine."
I mimicked Sharon's action and pulled my swimsuit down until my breasts - and most of my bump - were totally exposed. "Isn't that right Dick?"
"Oh God!" he said. "Your tits are so beautiful. You both are," he hurriedly added, in case he'd upset Sharon.
"I'm afraid sex is out of the question," Sharon said, "with us both being pregnant."
"Oh," Dick said, the disappointment sounding in his voice.
"But a tit-fuck and a blow-job would be alright. That is," she added, "provided you fancy one?"
"Oh yes," he said. "I really do fancy that."
I was amazed what Sharon was offering. After all, she was a lesbian who, I thought, hated men after her husband had left her pregnant.
"Do you want to make a start, Anne?" Sharon said.
"Me!"
"Well I can see that Dick would love to get going with a tit-fuck, and you're best qualified for that. After that, I'll give him a blow job. Unless you want to reverse rolls, that is?"
I almost said, "Bloody hell! No," but managed to avoid the first two words. After all, I reckoned it would be not too bad rolling my make-believe tits around his cock. Getting my lips around his cock and going down on him, as Sharon was prepared to do, was something I found revolting.
"Sorry," Sharon abruptly said. "I've got to go to the toilet," and she promptly disappeared into the en-suite and shut the door.
Going to the toilet, I realised, was something pregnant women did a lot of. I made a note that I should do the same.
"I bet you haven't seen many cocks this size before," Dick said, dropping his trousers.
Even if Dick had a tiny cock, those words would have been absolutely true. But he didn't have a tiny cock; he had a large beast, of a size that, if I'd still been Paul, would have made me feel inadequate.
But I wasn't Paul; I had to show him I was definitely Anne. To start with, I slipped off my swimming costume completely, so he could see I had a pussy rather than a prick and a set of crushed balls.
"Hell that is one tremendous monster," I said. "Let me get my tits around that."
Actually, it was incredibly difficult manoeuvring into a position where I could wrap my tits around it. It would have been difficult enough if I'd been pretending to be a non-pregnant woman, as it's not the kind of activity that men get any practice at doing. But with a bulge the weight and size of sack of cement stuck on my front, it meant I could hardly get close to him.
But needs must.
Eventually, I sat on a low stool with my back to a wall, whilst he stood with his legs astride me and leant forward against the wall. Once we'd got into position, it all became quite easy. I rolled my tits up and down his cock, whilst he screwed up his eyes, and muttered things like: "Oh God! That's wonderful. Go on! Go on!"
It gave me plenty of opportunity to observe not only the size of it - I've seen cucumbers smaller than that - but also the pure ugliness of the male penis seen from the receiving end. His huge, glistening, purple knob throbbed with excitement, and the horrible, blue veins stood proud from his shaft. With every heave of my tits along his cock, it seemed to throb even more, until I could sense he was about to come.
"My turn now," Sharon said, almost to my disappointment. I had really enjoyed giving him so much pleasure, and had been incredibly fascinated at the thought of him ejaculating up my neck and into my face. Ugh! Can you believe I said that?
She pulled Dick away from me, turned him around so he was facing her, then gently lowered herself to her knees and started kissing his cock.
"I'd better go to the toilet," I said, managing to get myself back on my feet.
Sharon now had her hands on Dick's arse, squeezing his cheeks with her nails digging into his flesh, whilst she took the whole length of his cock inside her mouth. I couldn't understand why it wasn't coming through the back of her neck, but I guess she was taking it down her throat.
"I'll go next door and leave you to it," I said, but I don't think they heard.
***
"Marianne. I wanted to talk to you. Are you somewhere you can speak without being overheard?"
With Sharon otherwise engaged, it gave me an opportunity to phone Marianne and challenge her about this man who'd been in the car. Who knew, perhaps he was in the hotel room with her now.
"Yes, of course I can speak," she said. "I'm glad you called anyway because I forgot to tell you that Wayne sends his love."
"Wayne!" I was taken by surprise. The only Wayne I knew was the outrageously camp, top fashion designer - one of the few who to my knowledge had never employed Marianne as a model - indeed there almost seemed to be an antagonism between the two. I'd met him a few times at functions, and he'd always pretended to make a play for me. (At least, I assume he was pretending!) I'd always wondered whether he did that to wind Marianne up, but she said he was like that with all males.
"You mean Wayne Williams?" I asked. "When did you see him?"
"I didn't like to say it in front of Sharon," Marianne said, "but the reason I got this job was because Wayne had been on a shoot in Seacombe, and since he lost his driving licence, he hasn't been able to get about very easily. He knew I was coming to Seacombe; this job suddenly came up in Bath, so he rang me and said, 'Give me a lift and the job's yours.' I could hardly refuse, could I?"
"Oh," I said. That took the wind out of my sails. "I thought you didn't like him very much."
"I think I may have misjudged him," Marianne said. "He was quite a lot of fun, actually. The really hilarious thing was when the police came up the line of cars looking for the escaped convict, Wayne said, 'Oh no! If it gets out that I've been on my own in a car with a beautiful woman, I'll lose my reputation. People will talk.'
"So I told the policeman," she continued, "that he was really you. Can you believe it? We could have got into terrible trouble if we'd been found out. It certainly puts you swanning around a hotel pretending to be pregnant into perspective."
Gulp. I kept silent.
"But Wayne was so funny," she continued."We couldn't stop laughing about it afterwards. And I think I might get some more work from him in the long term, so it's not done my career any harm.
"Anyway," she added, "what is it you wanted to talk about?"
"On, nothing, "I said, feeling bad about not trusting her. Of course her brother wasn't a paedophile and an escaped convict; of course she wasn't having an affair.
***
It never crossed my mind that Dick and Sharon would still be at it when I returned to her bungalow. After all, I'd made the phone call to Marianne, and spent some time in my toilet, and how long can a man uphold the kind of blow job that Sharon had been administering? (In Paul's case, I knew it would be about thirty seconds!)
But even as my eyes swept around Sharon's lounge, and realised there was no one there, I heard Sharon's little cries.
"Ugh! Ugh! Ugh! Go on!"
"The bedroom opened directly off the lounge and the door was wide open. Sharon was on the bed in the same position I'd been in last night, whilst Dick was sliding his huge cock in and out of her arse.
Knowing how painful it had been taking the much smaller dildo that Sharon had been using, I couldn't imagine how much it hurt when he'd slid that inside her. But it didn't seem to make any difference now. She was in heaven, and he was clearly approaching his.
His thrusts were getting harder, slamming his entire length hard into her, so her face was being pushed into the pillow, and her entire body was shaking in time with his thrusts.
"Yes! Yes!" he yelled. "Y-e-e-e-e-s-s-s!"
I silently let myself out of the bungalow and went back to my own.
***
I was jealous. I was bloody jealous!
I thought Sharon didn't like men; that after leaving her husband she was a fully committed lesbian. Instead, she'd had it with the first man she'd met. And not only having sex, but having anal sex. OK, I appreciated the thing about SIDS, but she didn't have to enjoy it so much, did she? I mean, when I'd tried wearing the dildo last night and shafting her arse, she'd smiled nicely and said how much she'd enjoyed it. But then we'd quickly reverted to her shafting my arse, to both of our mutual satisfactions - I'd found wearing the dildo was nothing like as enjoyable as her arse-fucking, but...
"I'm sorry I left the bedroom door open," Sharon said. She'd entered quietly into my bungalow without me realising. "It's never pleasant coming across people at it like we were."
"It was my fault," I said. "I should have thought about it and knocked.
"But," I continued, "I thought you didn't like men - that you'd given them up."
"I've certainly tried to," she said, "and I only started the thing with Dick to distract you and him from what we were talking about. Did you manage to telephone Marianne?"
I was surprised. "How did you know I'd telephone her?"
"You were so clearly pissed that the man in the car wasn't her husband. Let me take a guess; she's been having an affair with your ex-husband, right? She's probably told you she's given up on him after he left you in the lurch like that. And now you find she's still shagging him. So you are incredibly pissed, and who can blame you."
I decided the best thing was to keep quiet and let Sharon make whatever assumptions she wanted, so I changed the subject. I smiled and said, "I can't believe you took that enormous cock inside you."
"I certainly hadn't meant to when I first suggested a tit fuck and a blow job," Sharon replied, recognising and going along with the change of subject. "But when I saw that wonderful monster, there was absolutely no way I could not have it inside me."
"But didn't it hurt when he shoved it in?" I asked.
"Hell, it hurt so much I thought he was splitting me in half," she said. "It was like being impaled on a pick-axe handle, only bigger. I had an immediate orgasm. It was fantastic."
"I think I'll leave that pleasure entirely to you," I said, shuddering at the thought.
"You have a wonderfully tight little arse at the moment," Sharon said, "because you've only just started using it for its most joyful purpose. But give it a few days of me hammering away at it, and I reckon we'll be able to slip Dick's cock inside you without you a murmur."
"If I don't murmur," I said, "there really doesn't seem much point in shoving it in." Then I couldn't believe I'd said that, because it meant I was actually contemplating the unthinkable - having sex with a man. But of course, I told myself, I'd only said it because I was acting the part of a rampant pregnant woman. Hadn't I?
When first we practice to deceive
Synopsis: A pregnancy simulator seems an ideal way of convincing Paul's wife that pregnancy is really not that bad, and they agree to try it on holiday on Seacombe Moor. But it's not just the jailbreak from Seacombe Prison that turns everything upside down for Paul. This story is complete but is being serialised in six chapters, to be released at approximately daily intervals.
All people, places and events in this series are entirely fictional. If you need medical advice about pregnancy, consult a doctor rather than the pages of this fictional story.
Chapter 5 - Oh What a Tangled Web
Next morning, we watched breakfast TV in bed together. OK, so Sharon had spent most of the night shagging me rigid, and we only caught the last part of breakfast TV before it changed to the usual daytime TV rubbish. But we did get the regional news and we both stopped our mutual titillation to pay attention when the bit about the escaped prisoner came on.
A police inspector called Godolphy was being interviewed - he looked obnoxious, ugly and fat. He made it more than obvious that the private company who'd handled the transfer of the prisoner from Brixton Prison in London to Seacombe were totally incompetent.
"I've seen kids playing cowboys with more realistic guns than the ones the hijackers used," he said. He pointed to a table where they were laid out. "They're clearly made of plastic, and you could buy them in almost any toy shop. The so-called Prison Transport Security officers should have taken one look at them and fallen about laughing."
"So you're suggesting this was an amateur operation?" the reporter asked him.
"Look," Godolphy said. "Brown was caught looking at pictures of little boys' dongles on his home computer, for which he was put into prison. He's not a hardened professional criminal, and since prisoners accused of paedophilia have to be kept separate from other prisoners for their own protection, it's doubtful he's formed an alliance with such people since he's been inside. We believe he may have been assisted in the escape by his friends - probably other paedophiles."
"I understand you are anxious to make contact with anyone who knew him prior to his arrest?"
"Well of course we bloody are," Godolphy said. "But it's hardly likely the people who sprung him are going to come running to us, is it? He appears to have led an isolated life prior to his arrest, but we are trying to trace any of the people he knew."
Such as his sister? I tried not to audibly gulp.
"We do believe he is still in the Seacombe district," Godolphy continued, "as the main road was blocked by an accident shortly before the hold-up, and we were able to search all vehicles leaving the area - as we have continued to do. We believe he does not pose a threat to the public unless cornered. Anyone believing they have seen him should dial 999 immediately."
"There you are," Sharon said. "No mention of a brother." Of course, Sharon was still working on the basis that Sean Brown would be my ex-husband's brother. But then, there'd been no mention of a sister, either.
"You're right," I said. "It was absolutely silly to imagine they could be one and the same."
But, I was thinking about the coincidence of the prison van coming all the way from Brixton Prison in London - only a few miles away from where we lived! We must have virtually followed the vehicle all the way down to Seacombe. Suppose - just suppose - that Sean Brown really was Marianne's brother, and that she had deliberately followed the van, and as we approached the spot, had overtaken it - causing the accident as she took risks to get past it in time - and then given warning of its approach to the bogus road workers.
That was a silly idea. But then why had I slept so much on Saturday. I'd thought it was because I had a restless night and the extra weight on my tummy was wearing me out, but that hadn't stopped me being awake most of last night whilst Sharon and I shagged each other.
Suppose - I mean, it was an even more ridiculous idea - but just suppose that Marianne had dropped a couple of her sleeping tablets into that early morning cup of tea she had brought me on Saturday morning, for the first time ever in our marriage.
But then if all that was true, where was Sean? I'd seen how PC Bull had scrutinised me the previous day, highly suspicious I was a man until he'd seen me naked. I had every confidence that he had just as carefully looked at every occupant of every car in the queue waiting to leave the area, as well as every person he'd met since. Of course, it didn't mean that every police officer would be as diligent - PC Sally Wright didn't appear to have sussed me, but to be fair, she and every other police officer were not looking specifically for a man dressed as a woman; they were looking for someone who matched the photograph of their escaped prisoner.
So, Marianne couldn't have taken Sean with her to Bath, and the police in Seacombe would have been looking for him in every hotel, boarding house and holiday flat. Surely, he'd have been found by now if he was still in the area. The only solution was the one we had first thought of: the prisoner must have immediately got on a boat over to France before the alarm was raised. And if that was the case, why would Marianne have gone to Bath at all, unless everything she had said had been absolutely true?
"A penny for them," Sharon said.
I shook my head. "I was wondering," I said, "when you're going to strap on your dildo and give me a good seeing to up the Khyber."
The answer was immediately.
We rapidly settled into a routine of sex, lying in the sun, more sex, swimming, more sex... well, you get the general idea - we were at it like rabbits. Something that felt rather strange about the whole relationship was that it was purely a physical one - OK, we got on well together, joked, and chatted, but neither of us felt this was anything but a holiday tryst, which would be ended when our holidays ended. Maybe we'd send cards at Christmas, but then maybe we'd forget after the first year.
News about the prison escape died out after a day, and the police toned down the search for the prisoner and the perceived wisdom was generally that he had got onto a boat and escaped. All the same, throughout the week, guests at the hotel reported random police road blocks, and cars being searched.
The panic I'd been experiencing about the possibility of the prisoner being Marianne's brother seemed stupid, and I let it drop from my mind, as the pleasures of the flesh took over. Until Wednesday evening.
I'd tried to ring Marianne on Tuesday evening, and her mobile was either turned off or, more likely, she'd forgotten to charge it. I wasn't particularly perturbed until I did the same on Wednesday evening and got the same response. So I rang Marianne's agent, Susan McManners.
"Hi Paul," she said after I'd introduced myself. (I'd tried to put on a deep voice to counter the voice changer pill's effects). "Or should I call you Anne?" she added. "I must say, we all think you're wonderful to even wear that pregnancy suit at all, never mind going around in public, and for so long. Well done. How's it all going?"
I mentally cursed Marianne for telling her, but went on to relate how I was getting on, and we chatted for several minutes about my life as a pregnant woman. Naturally, I left out the exact nature of my experiences with Sharon!
"It's been years since I went to Seaton," Susan said. "I bet it hasn't changed much, has it?"
"It's Seacombe where we've been staying, not Seaton," I said, and muttered under my breath, "At least, it's where I'm staying."
"Oh dear," Susan said. "I think I've given the police the wrong information."
My heart leapt into my mouth. "Police. What did they want?"
"They said it was just a routine enquiry and nothing to worry about. In any case, I gave them Marianne's mobile number as well, so presumably they've been in touch?" Her voice rose at the end of the sentence to turn it into a question.
"You mean you're not in contact with Marianne?"
"I thought she was on holiday with you."
My mind was whirring. On the one hand, the police call could be a simple follow up to her interview on the road on Saturday afternoon - perhaps even because they realised she'd told a lie about the identity of her passenger. Maybe Marianne was also keeping her job with Wayne Williams a secret from her agent so she wouldn't have to pay her commission on the deal.
On the other hand, suppose she'd lied about the job in Bath; she really had helped with the prison escape and she'd smuggled her brother out of the County disguised as me. When I rang up and was clearly angry about something, she'd had the story about Wayne all ready prepared and she'd quickly got it in first to take the heat out of my anger.
"Paul? Are you there?" Susan sounded suddenly worried.
"She said she had to go away for a few days," I said. "I expect she'll be back tomorrow."
"Look Paul," she said. "You know that Marianne is a bit of a free spirit. I don't believe you will ever tie her down to be an obedient, dutiful housewife."
Which I think was her way of saying that Marianne put it about a lot. "Thanks, Susan," I said. "I expect she'll turn up tomorrow."
Marianne telephoned later that evening.
"Hi Anne. How are you?"
"Well I'm OK, but I've been trying to get hold of you. Your phone's been turned off for the last two days. And Susan McManners didn't know where you were."
"You've spoken to Susan!"
"Is there any reason why I shouldn't?"
"Of course not." Then she added, "Well actually, I hadn't told Susan about the job in Bath, since it came up on the spur of the moment. I'd better ring her afterwards. Sorry about my phone, only I couldn't find my battery charger - it's probably in the side-pocket of your suitcase. I've had to go out and buy a new one."
"Susan said the police had been trying to get hold of you. Did they contact you?"
"Oh! That's how they found me, was it. I wondered about that." She paused for a bit, and then added, "Yes they found me alright."
The tone of her voice indicated it had not been a simple interview.
"Was it because you lied to them about Wayne?"
"Wayne?" There was a moment of silence, then she added, "Oh you mean about me telling them that Wayne was really you. Yes, that was it. They were less than amused by it. I thought they were going to arrest me at one time for wasting police time or something stupid like that."
I could have said that I thought she'd been stupid to lie to the police like that, but thought it better not to.
"Anyway," she continued, "I managed to convince them it was irrelevant to their search for the missing prisoner regardless of whether the man was you or Wayne Williams. After all, they had a photograph of the escaped prisoner, so they were hardly going to let go someone who looked exactly like him, on the strength that he gave them another man's name."
"Sean Brown," I said.
"What about Sean?" she replied. "Has he been trying to contact me?"
"Sean Brown was the name of the escaped prisoner."
"Oh, was it? Well what about it?" She sounded puzzled. "I thought you were talking about my brother."
"I was making the point that your brother has the same name as the escaped prisoner," I said.
"Well, what about it?" She repeated. "There are millions of people called Brown, so there must be thousands called Sean Brown. I hardly think it's worth telephoning Sean in Ethiopia to tell him that - even supposing he was on the end of the phone, which he usually is not."
"It's funny," I said. "We've never really talked about Sean before. Has he been married?"
"Not Sean," she said. "He's not that way inclined. As we speak, he's probably giving a bit of aid to some hunky black guy, and unlike this paedo who's gone walkies, he definitely prefers older men. Anyway, we've hardly talked about you, this evening. How have you been getting on being pregnant?"
I could recognise a change of subject when I saw one, but since I didn't know where to take the conversation next, I started telling her about my week, and how much enjoyment Sharon and I had been having - no, not that enjoyment - I meant the simple lazing about and swimming stuff you normally do on holiday.
"Hello Ladies." The voice came from behind my back. I didn't have to turn to recognise the voice of PC Dick Bull.
"Hello Dick," Sharon smiled at him, and I also turned and smiled a greeting.
"I'm pursuing my enquiries," he said.
"That's good," Sharon said."We were hoping for a cock and bull story. The only thing you're pursuing is the chance of sticking that massive tool inside us again. I've been trying to convince Anne to take it up her arse," she added conversationally, "but she's a bit shy of it."
He smirked. "Well, there are quite a few women who've said that, but they always enjoy it in the end."
"You mean after they've been sown back together again," I quipped.
He inclined his head. "Well, I've never had a woman who took it up her back passage before," he admitted, "and I was a bit surprised when Sharon said she wanted to try it. But she loved it." He looked across at Sharon, and added, "Ready for some more?"
"You bet," she said, "but I really want to introduce Anne to the delights of it. You don't mind if she sits in, do you?"
"Er, well look..." I started to say, but Dick spoke over me. "Of course, I don't. And perhaps when she sees how easy it slips inside you, she'll be asking for a length for herself."
"How about it, Anne," Sharon asked. "No harm in watching."
I shrugged my shoulders in compliance, trying to pretend I wasn't fascinated by the idea.
Sharon could hardly pull her swimsuit off quickly enough, and Dick was hardly hanging around - at least he wasn't when he'd dropped his trousers - his throbbing, purple monster reared upwards, the knobbly veins standing proud around the shaft. Hell it was the most horrible thing I had ever seen.
"Isn't that the most beautiful thing you have ever seen," Sharon said. "One magnificent fucking machine."
"I'd certainly be fucked if I had that inside me," I said, trying not to show the exhilaration running through me at the very idea of it.
"You certainly would," Dick said. "I've never had any complaints that a woman feels she's been short-changed."
"Come on, Dick," Sharon said, placing first one knee and then the other onto the bed, and lowering herself down so her head was on a pillow, with her arse sticking right up in the air. "Cut the talk, and get those bollocks slapping against my arse."
He was actually really considerate in the way he penetrated her, lubing her up first, slipping a condom over his prick and then very gently separating the cheeks of her arse and wriggling from side to side as he pushed his prick against her anus.
I suppose when you see the size of turd that occasionally comes out after constipation, you can understand how a large prick can get through a relatively small hole, but I still found it terrifying. OK, as that monster slid inside her, I also found it incredibly exciting, and erotic, but there was no way I was going to let it inside me.
Well, that's what I'd resolved until Sharon started moaning. In all our sexual activities, I'd never heard her moan in quite such a way. In and out, Dick went, and she moaned in time with his strokes - as though she was a violin being played by the world's worst violin player, but who somehow made the most enthralling and exhilarating music I had ever heard.
I think she reached orgasm instantly, and it just went on and on - ten minutes? Perhaps twenty - I lost all idea of time as she continued in her ecstasy.
And at some point, I thought "It's not fair! When do I get my turn?"
I started to get impatient. I slipped one hand up to my breast and started rolling my nipple between finger and thumb. Mmm, that felt good. Then I slipped my other hand between my legs and pressed against my clitoris. That was even better. "Oh God! Why didn't Dick finish?"
"I think Anne is ready for it now," Dick said. He was grinning lewdly at my self-titillation. "Go on, love. Leap up onto the bed, same as Sharon."
Whilst I slipped off my swimsuit, climbed onto the bed and squatted forward in the same way as Sharon, he slipped on a fresh condom. Then his monster was pointing across the room at me; then it was moving forward towards me.
I was petrified; I wanted to shout out, and say I'd changed my mind, but I felt like a rabbit caught in a stoat's gaze; too terrified to do anything. Then I felt him entering my anus.
It wasn't too bad - no worse than Sharon's dildo. I gasped with relief.
"OK, I've lubed you up," Dick said. "Now I'm going to slowly slide inside you."
One instant, I was coming to terms with the realisation that he'd only been playing with his finger, the next he seemed to have split my arse in half as he rammed his cock inside me.
"Oh God!" I said. "You're killing me. You need to stop. NOW!"
"That's OK," Sharon said, stroking my forehead. "It will turn to magic in a minute."
"It can't do," I cried. "It's hell! Make him stop! Please, please, stop."
Instead of stopping, I felt my arse being slit even wider apart as I realised he wasn't even yet inside me. I thought it couldn't get any worse.
Then it did!
He was sliding the monster inside of me. It went into my arse - and in - and in - and in. It felt like it was passing my navel and still travelling.
Somewhere around the bottom of my lungs - I'd certainly been incapable of breathing for ages - he stopped. Then he was pulling it out again. Past my navel; through my arse, and he was just about to thankfully withdraw it when he changed direction again.
"Oh no!" I gasped.
"Oh, yes" he grunted. But he was moving faster this time. Through my arse, past my navel and up to the bottom of my lungs - and then out again.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
His thrusts were becoming more urgent. He was thrusting harder; faster; harder; faster.
"You must stop," I groaned.
"I think it might be a little late for that," Sharon said, as Dick started to grunt.
Faster, he went. Harder, he lunged. Faster! Harder!
Suddenly, I realised the pain had virtually disappeared. It was almost... well actually, it was quite nice... In fact one could say it was...
"Oh my God!" I muttered. "Oh my God!"
And then I started to wail like a badly-played violin!
"How's the hunt for the escaped prisoner going?" I asked Dick as he was putting his clothes back on.
He scratched his balls, and said, "It seems to have slowed right down. We thought we had a breakthrough when we found Brown's sister - she's that fashion model Marianne Black, you know."
(Thank heavens he wasn't looking at me as he spoke for I almost had a heart attack. I could see the look of surprise on Sharon's face also. Damn Marianne for telling her who she was!)
"Anyway, she had travelled from London to Bath on the day of the escape. Obviously, it would be easy enough for her to come down to Seacombe, help with the escape, and then nip up to Bath with her brother. But the Bath police couldn't shake her story, and even when DI Godolphy went up there to interview her, he couldn't get her to confess. I've never known Godolphy fail with any crook.
"Of course," he continued, "because of the major car accident just before the breakout, we were also pretty certain that no one who could have been involved in the breakout had got away before we got the road blocks set up. There's also no record of her BMW being in the area, so..." He shrugged his shoulders. "It looks like she's innocent. Which leaves our investigation absolutely nowhere."
"Presumably, this isn't public knowledge?" Sharon said, giving me a look.
"God! No!" Dick said. "I'd have my balls cut off if Godolphy found out what I'd told you. You won't tell anyone, will you?"
"Well we won't," Sharon said, "But you never know about other people. I should keep that story very quiet, otherwise it is bound to leak out."
"You're right," Dick nodded. "Mum's the word."
He was dressed by now, and with a, "I guess I might have to come back and interview you wonderful ladies again," he was gone.
"I think we need to speak," Sharon said.
I had been racking my brains about what to tell Sharon as soon as Dick had let the cat out of the bag. Why, oh why had Marianne told Sharon about her being the famous fashion model? And how the hell had she managed to talk her way out of the interview with Godolphy. Thank God PC Bull hadn't gone to Bath with Godolphy. Otherwise, he'd have recognised Marianne Black as the same person he'd interviewed in the car calling herself Marianne Johnson. And why the hell had Marianne got me into this situation in the first place. At least, she might have let me into the secret.
"You mean," I asked in response to her prompt, "about me telling you that Marianne and I were sisters?" God knows where my inspiration came from, but the words just seemed to come of their own volition. "Of course, really we are both ex-wives of the same man - Paul Johnson, that is. She was first Mrs Johnson and I was the second. As soon as I met Paul, she and I became really close - like sisters - and now I've split up from Paul, I'd rather not even think that Paul is the common bond between Marianne and me. We both kept Johnson as our surnames. It made it easier to pretend - I guess mainly to ourselves - that we were sisters." I realised I had been gabbling, but I think it all made sense.
"Oh!" Sharon said, sounding rather surprised at such a simple(!) explanation. "So that explains why you were so cross when you found out that Marianne had Paul in the car with her on Saturday."
Hell! That fitted in nicely with what I had said - that was lucky.
"But why didn't you tell me?" she added
Gulp! "It's all very complicated," I said. "It just seemed simpler not to try to explain."
"I can see that," she said. "So Sean Brown is...?"
God! Where did Sean fit into the story I had just invented? "Marianne's brother," I said. I think that was consistent with what Bull and I had each said.
Sharon shrugged. "Oh what a tangled web we weave," she said. "I'd have thought it would have been simpler to tell the truth."
"I only wish Marianne had told me the truth about Sean," I said. "I never realised he'd been arrested and sent to jail. I suppose she thought it would damage her career if it got out." But why hadn't she told me?
"Perhaps," Sharon said, "she was totally ashamed about what Sean had done, and didn't want anyone to know."
"Maybe," I said. "This has all come as a bit of a shock to me. I simply can't imagine Marianne getting involved in a jailbreak. And could she really sneak her brother out of the area, when all the police were searching for him, and hide him away somewhere. Obviously, he can't be staying with Marianne in Bath as the police are bound to have checked that."
"I guess it doesn't really matter to us," Sharon said. "At least, having seen you naked, I can be certain that you aren't Marianne's brother in disguise."
"Bloody hell," I thought, "let's not go down that route."
"Marianne," I said over the telephone, "Sharon and I have spoken to the policeman who questioned you at the roadblock. He told us about your interviews in Bath."
"Shit!" she said.
"We'd better be careful not to say too much over the phone," I said. "Obviously, you can't come back here as someone might see you and put the two Mariannes together. I think we'd both better go back home."
"No," Marianne said. "I'll go back home, but it's better if you stay for the time being. After all, the last thing we want at the moment is for you to get sussed for what you really are as you try to get on a train."
It was a valid point, and I seemed safe enough where I was, with Sharon to keep me company and PC Bull with his enormous truncheon.
"How long do you think I should stay?"
"Stick to the plan," she said." Stay the two weeks and enjoy your holiday. Sharon's staying two weeks as well, isn't she?"
I confirmed that Sharon was due to leave on the same day. "We can travel together back to London on the train," I said.
"That will make it much safer for you," Marianne said. "Don't worry about me. Everything here is fine. OK?"
"OK," I said, and, "Love you." In spite of my infidelity, I realised that I really did.
"Love you too."
All people, places and events in this series are entirely fictional. If you need medical advice about pregnancy, consult a doctor rather than the pages of this fictional story.
Chapter 6 - The End
For a while I was frightened that Sharon might say something to the police. Clearly, she'd worked out much of what had happened, but equally as clearly, she did not want to get involved, and who could blame her.
She continued to have fun with her policeman's truncheon, whilst I ducked out of that particular relationship. However, PC Sally Wright came round to ask if there was anything we could add to our statements, and I'm afraid I gave her everything she wanted - I came clean about how being pregnant doesn't impair one's sexual appetite, and confessed how much I enjoyed fun between two women. She was perfectly understanding about my confessions, and was a firm believer that the punishment should fit the crime.
She brought in a dildo on one occasion, but although she quite enjoyed it, I found that her action up my back passage simply wasn't a patch upon Sharon's, so we left that alone and concentrated upon some of the more exquisite actions possible without any sex aids, whatsoever.
And of course, somehow, Sharon seemed to take sufficient time out of being fucked by Dick to give me a good rogering on a regular basis.
So the second week ecstatically passed by, and in next to no time, Sharon and I were being helped out of a taxi in front of Seacombe Station. There was no army of policemen looking for escaped convicts, simply some harassed-looking station officials who took time out to see that two heavily pregnant women were properly tended to. Presumably, there'd be a dozen forms to fill in if we'd given birth on the platform.
What a shame they no longer have compartment trains, so we could have continued the bonking all the way to London. However, we travelled first class so we had plenty of room, and the long train journey gave us chance to revert to our proper roles - or at least, to the role I was pretending to be. We chatted as two pregnant women might chat, but with no mention of the real fun we two women had had together. All the same, it was nice to get so many admiring glances from males who passed along the aisle. In fact, I may have surreptitiously tugged at my dress to reveal rather more cleavage than a respectable pregnant lady should. Who cared?
Personally, I couldn't help feeling a little sad that my term of pregnancy was coming to an end. Hopefully, by now, Marianne had sorted out something more permanent about Sean - smuggled him abroad or set him up with another identity. Perhaps, I thought with a smile, she could give him my Pregnancy Torsolet and he could pretend...
I felt as though a horse had kicked me in the stomach.
It couldn't be true!
I glanced at Sharon. Surely not! But then, how would I know - I'd never seen any family photographs of Sean, apart from when he was very young. Sharon and Sean: the names were very different when spelt, but when spoken sounded so similar - a good way of ensuring one doesn't get caught out when someone calls out your name.
But it must be impossible, I thought. No man could pretend to be a pregnant woman for two weeks and get away with it, even fooling policemen on the alert - except that I just had!
Sharon, feeling my eyes upon her, turned towards me and looked at me.
"Ah!" she said. "You've worked it out at last."
"It's true?" I asked.
She nodded. "Sorry, Anne. Marianne and I both thought it better not to involve you in what we had to do."
I glanced around to ensure that our conversation was not being overheard. "But when you and I..."
Sharon shrugged. "Sorry," she said (or do I mean "he said"?).
He added in a whisper, "You looked so attractive, I really couldn't resist it. I completely made up the whole thing about SIDS, so I could shaft you. But I always wore a condom. I'm not irresponsible, like that."
"But you tricked me!"
"Whereas you thought you were tricking Sharon."
I opened my mouth and shut it again. The words "That's different" would have rung hollow.
"Anne. Did I ever do anything to you which you disliked?"
I could only shake my head. It was true; I had enjoyed every minute with Sharon, or I should have said, with...
I shook my head again, unable to put it into words. I had been well and truly shafted!
I gave another glance around to ensure we weren't been overheard. "Why weren't you recognised by the..." There was no need to say the final word.
"My torsolet is a more expensive model than yours - it cost a fortune. It's got a built-in face mask, so Sean looks very different from Sharon."
No wonder she'd looked so convincing, and fooled PC Bull.
"But after Marianne had told me that Wayne Jenkins was in the car with her," I said, still trying to work it all out, "I thought it must really have been you escaping from the area."
Sean shook his head. "Marianne was telling you the truth," he said. "It was Wayne in the car." He hesitated a little before adding, "Wayne and I have been lovers since I was thirteen."
Noticing the look on my face he added with a smile. "Wayne really loves young boys. When he chats up older men," (I presumed that included me) "it's really just an act to cover it. It was him who'd been using my computer to download the images that the police found."
I gave another glance around to check we weren't being overheard. "And you went to prison for him?"
"I love him, although I realise I'm getting too old for him now. But he did help me escape, and so did Marianne."
He grimaced. "You need to understand that Marianne is fifteen years older than me, so she left home when I was a toddler. It meant we were never very close, and I think that probably helped when it came to her lying about me. The press would have had a field day if they discovered that internationally acclaimed model, Marianne Black, had a brother who firstly was having under-age sex with fashion designer, Wayne Williams, and that he later got arrested and sent to prison for paedophilia. I guess that being in denial over me helped when she was being interrogated by the police."
He shrugged. "She refused to be directly involved in the breakout, or even drive the getaway car out of the area - a good job as we'd have been trapped by the road accident and caught, and Marianne would have lost everything. Instead, we had to go through this charade with the Pregnancy Torsolets.
"Godolphy was right; it was an incredibly amateur operation. Wayne's brother, little Willy (and he does have a little willy) is a road-worker; he had all the gear and he quietly borrowed his van from work. Marianne followed the prison van all the way here, and then overtook it at the last minute and warned Wayne and Willy it was just around the corner - it was rather a pity she caused that nasty pile-up, but fortunately, no one was seriously injured.
"After Wayne and Willy had freed me from the prison van," Sean continued, "we drove to the hotel in Willy's borrowed van, whilst I put on my torsolet in the back. It was much easier for me since I didn't have to worry about my face or hair - that was all built into the Torsolet. And I didn't glue in my important bits, as Marianne did for you. Then I simply walked up to where you were asleep on the bench, and that was the start of our wonderful relationship."
"But you're saying that Marianne set me up."
He shook his head. "She and Wayne were certain the Pregnancy Torsolet would be totally convincing, and all you were doing was staying at the same hotel as me. Oh, maybe we'd occasionally share a lunch together, but nothing more. That all went out the window the moment I saw you asleep on the bench, and immediately fell in lust with you."
He shrugged. "You know what sex is like. Your mind says one thing and your balls another - it's always the balls that win. Offering you an alibi to the police bonded us together, even if the frolics we'd just had did not. So blame me for that and everything else."
I shook my head, unable to trust myself to speak, for a minute. I suppose it would be fair to admit I was sexually confused. I'd never considered having sex with a man, and now I found that was exactly what I had been doing for the past fortnight. And I'd enjoyed it!
Sean grinned. "It was very funny when PC Bull revealed to you that Marianne Black, the model, was my sister, after I'd told you on the first day that I already knew the person calling herself your sister was also Marianne Black. I didn't realise it was supposed to be a secret, you see, and I was just making polite conversation. Well, as soon as Bull had left us, I was going to tell you the whole truth, but you leapt in so quickly with that complicated alternative that I just went along with it. Of course, it made it awfully difficult for you, but you were very clever, and the story really was believable."
I couldn't help but grin back at him.
"I'll drink to that," Sean said, but before we could put that into action, the train was rolling into Paddington Station, and there was a sudden frenzy as people stood up and grabbed hold of bags and suitcases.
"Would you like some help?" One of the husky guys who'd been ogling my tits stood over us.
I smiled up at him. "Thank you. We'd really appreciate that."
***
Marianne was waiting for us just beyond the ticket barrier. She gave us both hugs and then took our arms and led us towards the taxi rank.
"Paul knows," Sharon said.
"That's good," Marianne said as though it was of no consequence, and then added, "Paul, I have some great news."
She whispered in my ear. "I'm going to have a baby."
"A baby?" I stopped and stared at her.
"Isn't it terrific! Sorry I had to con you about not wanting a baby, and trick you into wearing that thing, but it was the only way I could see for us to pull this off without making you part of the conspiracy. I'm also sorry I let you think I was seeing a lover, when really I was going down to Seacombe to get everything planned with Wayne and Willy."
I wrapped my arms around her, picked her up and swung her around me, whilst giving her a great big kiss - much to the consternation of the other passengers on the station, who thought my waters must be about to break.
"Join the Pudding Club," I said, and we all three cheered.
Author's Notes: I wanted to document a little about the derivation of the plot elements, since looking back afterwards on completion of most of my stories, it usually seems much of a blur. I've put them in a separate Author's Notes file; there should be a link to the file. But please leave any comments you wish to make against this story, rather than the Author's Notes.
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Author's Notes: Spoilers below. Don't read unless you've finished the story.
Firstly, I want to emphasise that Sean invented the connection between SIDS and vaginal sex in the late stages of pregnancy, purely in order to get his wicked way with Paul. To the best of current knowledge, there is no connection between the two, but if you are in any doubt, consult a doctor, rather than the pages of a fictional story.
You may find it all pretty boring anyway, so feel free to skip, and please add your comments to Chapter 6, rather than to these notes (unless they are comments about the notes!).
I wanted to document a little about the derivation of the plot elements, since looking back afterwards on completion of most of my stories, it usually seems much of a blur. In this case, the basic story had been in embryo form for about three years but had several times been put aside. If you think the plot is complicated now, you should have seen it six months ago!
The base storyline started off much as you read it now. After seeing what Big Busts products were capable of, Marianne (although that wasn't then her name) wanted to spring her brother from jail, and realising they would be unlikely to escape the area, gave him an unlikely disguise as a pregnant woman. Marianne wanted a pregnant partner with whom Sean could hide. She felt sure the police would want to interview her after Sean's escape, so that ruled her out, and she didn't want to involve a really pregnant woman. Not only might she detect Sean was false, but the potential shock of discovery could harm the mother or baby. Hence Paul's involvement in the scheme. Fine so far.
The real complication in my initial plot was that Paul and Marianne swapped places, so they became Mrs & Mr Johnson. After leaving Paul and Sharon, Marianne then swapped back to being female. The complications of a female pretending to be a male, talking with (and chatting up) two pregnant females who were really males, one of whom knew about the other, whilst the other did not, was just unworkable, and the draft kept being thrown aside. Keeping Marianne consistently female by turning her into a 'sister' really made it much simpler to keep the plot going. Even so, it was difficult creating the consistency in the lies told by Marianne and Paul.
There was always going to be a person travelling in Marianne's car to Bath who had assisted in the jailbreak, but it was planned that gay fashion designer Wayne Williams was to have no other part in the proceedings. If you think Paul was surprised to learn that Wayne was a child pornographer, imagine how surprised I felt, as I was writing the final scene on the train, to realise that Wayne would provide the perfect vehicle for Sean's criminality.
The car accident which trapped all those involved in the Seacombe area was an essential part of the initial story. However, it was only in writing the final chapter that Marianne became the cause of it! The wonders of creative writing - and the reason why I would never want to publish unfinished work - meant that it was simple to go back and embroider a few necessary elements into the story, to create something that now appears to be integral to the story.
Finally, I too was surprised to learn that Marianne was pregnant. Certainly from my perspective, it was an unplanned pregnancy! But to me, one of the joys of writing is when you find the characters you have created take off and start doing spontaneous and unexpected things.
With any mystery, there's always a difficulty in deciding just how many clues to give to the reader so that they feel they could have worked out the solution, even though they were not able to. Those who have read a few of my stories will know there's often an unexpected twist at the end, so I guess I tend to make them more complicated than I might otherwise do. Thank heavens I did, as I was unprepared for the combined brain power of all those who commented: Could it be this? Sharon appears suspicious; Is she really a he? What about this? Or that? In the end, I think the complexity of the plot stood up reasonably well against the onslaught, but many of you were far too close for comfort and I was on tenterhooks the whole time.
Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it.
Love
Charlotte