Philaburton's Fetishes Ch. 02

"If you forget this nonsense about leaving and stay with me, until after the baby is born like we agreed I'll take the videos down and they'll just be for our enjoyment."

"Mr. Philaburton, Matthew, please. . . you don't have to do this," I whimpered.

Taking me by my arm, he pulled me up from the sofa. The tears glistened on my cheeks; he wiped them away. Brushing back the damp hair from my face he said, "I know I can be a selfish, insensitive bastard . . . but wait until after the baby is born, alright? That stepfather of yours is no good for you; but you already know that, don't you? He said.

"God damn it, Avery . . . I'm a seventy year old fool, and all I can think about most of the time is the way I feel when I'm with you, inside you. I like having you here with me." Taking a long pause, Mr. Philaburton continued, "but if you want to leave, I'll help you find an apartment and give you a little money to tide you over."

I looked up at Mr. Philaburton and began to cry again, realizing how much I owed to this man, who despite his gruff, sometimes controlling, sex obsessed exterior could still be thoughtful, kind and generous.

"Now stop crying, it's not good for the baby, you carrying on like this," he said sounding slightly embarrassed.

With the intent of remaining for only a few more weeks, I promised Mr. Philaburton that while I was there with him, I would not contact or see my stepdaddy.

*****

The next four weeks leading up to my baby's birth were perhaps the most intimate and gratifying of the time that I had lived with Mr. Philaburton. As my time grew near, our sexual intimacy, which continued to incorporate his fantasies and fetishes had slowly changed from desperate, sometimes freaky sex to intimate, mutually satisfying lovemaking. I don't know, it just seemed that I had begun to feel closer to him.

During that last few weeks, I remember one incident that alarmed me. Mr. Philaburton had been off golfing most of the afternoon, and when he did come home, he seemed a little pale and tired. Despite this, after we retired to bed that evening he wanted sex, which was not unusual. He stretched out on his back, his arms folded under his head and I removed his pajama bottoms. To my surprise, instead of being greeted by his developing erection, I saw it was still flaccid. I began licking his soft limp cock, sucking it into my mouth and working my mouth up and down its shaft until I felt him growing bigger and harder. Soon he began to moan, and his hips swayed gently before he more purposely started to thrust into my mouth and throat. I could feel his body tense readying itself for ejaculation when I backed off his cock. He groaned with surprised disappointment as I slowly stroked his cock, licking and kissing its tip. I sucked in his cockhead and could taste the salty, sticky wetness of the pre-cum that formed on its tip.

"Yes, oh yes," he mumbled anticipating the feel of my mouth on his dickhead. Instead, I rolled him onto his side, and as I stroked his swelling cock with my left hand, I deftly inserted the finger on my right hand into his asshole. He groaned and tried to pull away, but the sensation of being penetrated this way was compelling, and he was reduced to a whimpering little boy submitting to this pleasure/pain. My finger probed gently, found the bulge of his prostate, and began to rub and massage it until in one hard gut wrenching orgasm he came jerking and thrusting in an exquisite sexual release.

Mr. Philaburton closed his eyes and for several minutes lay motionless on the bed, his body covered in a light sheen of perspiration as his breathing calmed. I cuddled in close to him and lightly kissed his lips. He opened his eyes and smiled an exhausted but contented smile.

"You okay?" I asked

"Yes, of course, I'm fine little girl," he said.

A soft beam of moonlight shone through a separation in the bedroom drapes, casting a shadow across Mr. Philaburton's large warm hands as he claimed my breast and guided its hard, long nipple into his mouth. With a deep sigh, he slowly drifted off to sleep, absently sucking my tit until it finally surrendered a drop of sweet milk.

*****

As my time grew closer, and my belly bigger my libido began to ebb but certainly did not cease. It seemed that as my belly dropped lower, Mr. Philaburton's desires and pregnancy fetish only increased.

Even at this stage of my pregnancy, my heightened eroticism and constant state of arousal sometimes turned me into a demanding bitch who would actually threaten to leave him if he did not fuck me when I wanted him to. Knowing he wasn't taking me seriously only infuriated me more, he'd look at me sternly with a repressed smile playing at the corners of his mouth and my eyes would tear up from frustration and that overwhelming physical need to be sexually satisfied.

"Shhhh, stop crying. Why are you crying?" He'd ask with that infuriating calmness in his voice.

With close to seventy years of experience with women, he knew precisely how to bring me under control. Undressing me, he'd have me stretch out on my back. He enjoyed giving me oral, almost as much as I enjoyed receiving it. As he would bury his face between my thighs and as my tears ceased my cries would turn to moans of pleasure. His sucking and gently nipping my clit would send chills through me, and I would whorishly hump his mouth as orgasm after orgasm erupted. Afterward, exhausted and sexually satisfied, I'd lay on the bed, legs parted, pussy wet and puffy, baby kicking.

*****

One night I rolled over onto his chest, straddling him, and we both burst out laughing because I was so big by then, he had to help me position myself. He lowered me down, guiding my pussy over his cock, his hands slipping under my arms to balance me. His cock was enveloped by the feel of the warm, moist pregnant pussy he lusted for. I was so ready that I felt like an animal in heat when he began pumping in and out of me.

"My God . . . your pussy is still so fucking tight," he said, the words igniting a wave of heat between my legs, and I could feel my body preparing to cum. Our fingers entwined, he let me ride him, hard and deep, my orgasm just out of reach as I raced toward satisfaction.

Mr. Philaburton closed his eyes and let me use his cock until I felt it grow bigger inside me, pulsing and throbbing, and then his body spasmed and the warm wetness of his cum spewed out and filled me.

His creamy, white semen overflowed the swollen, congested confines of my pussy, leaking out and pooling at the base of his cock before seeping down over his balls. My super sensitive clit was engorged, and with each stroke against his cock, it felt as if an electric charge sizzled through me. His hands, which had been casually caressing my belly dropped to my thighs as I increased my efforts.

I wanted to cum, but couldn't seem to. "Help me cum! Help me . . . fuck me!" I shouted as I desperately pumped up and down on his cock, riding his cock so hard, the muscles in my thighs had begun to burn.

I needed to cum, and in my frustration, I began to rub myself as I slowly pulled my pussy up and then down his pole.

"Oh, oh . . ." I said when I felt my pussy begin to contract around his cock and the wonderful wave of release move through me, its intensity building until at its peak I came in an exquisite orgasm. I slid off Mr. Philaburton's cock and lay next to him, my body tired, a little sore, but fulfilled.

I looked at him and saw that familiar, self-satisfied smile on his face. Impulsively I got between his legs and began sucking his still semi-hard cock. I sucked and teased him for several minutes before I realized that he wasn't getting harder. Of course, I was disappointed, because I wanted him to cum in my mouth this time. I wasn't overly concerned, after all, he was in his seventies and obviously very tired. I decided to wait until later and maybe, we could have sex again, and in the meantime, I crawled up next to him my belly pressing against his side.

"Oh, my . . . the baby's kicking," I said excitedly and was surprised that Mr. Philaburton didn't respond or say anything as he normally would have when the baby was active. I took his hand and placed it on my stomach. Something was wrong. I called his name several times, but he did not open his eyes, there was no response at all. I could feel a clawing panic and fear growing.

"Mr. Philaburton?"

"Mr. P . . . Mr. Philaburton," I said, now shouting his name, touching his face. I jumped off the bed and running to the dresser picked up the cell phone and dialed 911.

*****

I sat in the chair next to his hospital bed and watched him. His hospital room was dimly lit and quiet as I held his hand waiting for a sign, any sign of his awakening. Mr. Philaburton had apparently suffered a stroke. I remember feeling a pang of guilt knowing that I was the cause, knowing that I must have been straddling his hips and riding his cock oblivious to the fact that while I was enjoying his cock, he was in the midst of a stroke.

Telling the attending physician that I was the fiancé, no longer caring about embarrassment I asked the doctor what had happened. How could I have known? He had been so hard and strong inside me. . . I felt him cum. The doctor delicately tried to explain that Mr. Philaburton's ejaculation most likely had been a reflex. His body had been on the brink of orgasming and even his stroke could not stop a primal reflex that his body was already instinctively triggered to complete.

Mr. Philaburton passed away later that night.

Though at first I was filled with a sense of immense guilty, I later came to realize that Mr. Philaburton had died experiencing what he most enjoyed and appreciated, the presence of a young, pretty woman with a ripe pregnant bellied in his bed. I don't think I could have wished for anything different for him, the last thing Mr. Philaburton would have felt and remembered would have been the tight sensation of a warm, velvety pregnant pussy. He had died with a broad smile on this face and the memory of his hard cock buried deep inside me.

I'll miss you Mr. Philaburton.