Work Text:
Title: Claire's Confession
File-ID: 7S7771-02-001992A
Created: 2018-11-22
Last edited: 2019-01-02
Reporter: Claire Williams (ext. 263772-A110-CW)
Reporter-Class: Victim-Encounter
Report-Type: Monologue, first hand witness recollection, first hand victim report
Confidence Level: III ( for internal educational and recreational use )
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________
If I had to pick where this story starts, it would be right at the beginning, when Tom and I decided to get married, more than 5 years ago.
We were high school sweethearts, and fell in love, and still are, If i might add. I succumbed to his somewhat nerdy charm and wits, the skinny
but firm body, his geek glasses and full lips, and he must have found something in me that was appealing at least.
But this might be an understatement. I did not think too much of myself back in those days, and let's be honest, how many 18 year olds do?
My proclivity towards sarcasm and self deprecating thoughts certainly was much higher back then.
We lived together until we were 21, then marriage came and it was a huge deal.
That day itself was just galloping by, colorful, fast and lovely to remember, but the realization what actually happened, came days later.
We were husband and wife, like grown ups, maybe we had already changed into adults along the way and didn't notice it.
But on that one, specific, rainy fall morning, when I sat on the porch, wrapped in blankets, a coffee in my hand,
I was hit with the realization that life is no longer pretend and prepare but we were both in the midst of it.
It made me choke and panic for a while and triggered a subconscious sense of urgency and unrest in me.
And soon after I noticed a change within myself. I, the somewhat thorny rose, was always the first one to declare to my mother,
and if possible, the whole world, I'd never like to have kids and had all the reasons to support this notion at hand, would proudly sputter out
facts and rationally reasoned tidbits that should make it obvious, to even the densest in the room, that having kids was never an option.
My mother, (if I may add to 4 children) always retorted kindly and with a warm smile,
"Oh Claire, you don't understand, my dear. Just wait!", she always replied.
And her eyes glistened, appeared absent minded for a second, as if she recollected a close to heart memory.
What my mother knew, and I completely disregarded with all the teenage stupor I could muster was,
It's rarely a rational consideration that controls the urge to be a parent.
Mankind, sometimes, sitting in the shiny, high castle of civilization, able to manipulate, calculate and estimate seemingly all aspects
of the world, is capable to rationalize away the most basic truths of its existence:
Deep down we're still beings, tied to an ancient process of creation and procreation.
And nature bloody well made sure to remind me of that.
After my realization on the porch it began. At first it manifested itself as an unrest and nervous tick,
sometimes I had troubles sleeping or light mood swings. Then, a few weeks later, it was a singing thin voice
in the back of my head. It nudgedd and pleaded without speaking, sweet and alluring. It worked its way through all
layers in my brain, until it reached the area where it was possible to form a thought from it:
"I wanted a baby!"
I cannot remember If I expected Tom to be delighted by my proposal. But I surely know, he was. Tom is a good husband, by all accounts.
Our intimate moments are sensual, and satiating, he keeps himself fit, as much as his work allows and our sex has always been,
and is still, enjoyable. He is built larger than average but after all these years we had accommodated well, knew each other's
sensitive spots and foibles and went on.
I got rid of the pill, he left out the rubber years ago, I tracked my cycle and we tried. Many times.
At first full of anticipation, then with vigorous eagerness until, at last, we concluded something was wrong.
The disappointment strained our relationship somewhat. It had no lasting impact, but whenever the conversation
circled around our joint efforts and failure to succeed, there was a hint of reproach in the air, unspoken and unaddressed:
'If thousands of people can get pregnant by accident, why can't we by intent?'
We decided to take matters to a doctor and were examined thoroughly. It was found my machinery seemed to operate just fine,
but much to Tom's chagrin, the doctor deemed his sperm count too low, and whatever was alive in his jizz, did,
for the most part, not qualify for any swimming competition.
We were both crestfallen and desperate. But I guess for him, my beloved husband, it was the hardest pill to swallow.
Of course it is easy to snicker about the fragile male self-image or machoism, but I felt deep empathy and did all I could to
stabilize and support him. Tom was invalidated and dismembered, convinced his body and sexuality was now nothing more than a
charade, since it was unable to fulfill the very task it was built for, at least on the most fundamental level.
And I would have disagreed with him on any other occasion, but this time he was right.
After all, I wanted to get pregnant and for the time being I couldn't. And it broke both our hearts.
However, there was still the option for an IV fertilization. But compared to a night of lovemaking, gymnastics and cuddling
afterwards, the idea of a sterile procedure seemed daunting to us and we requested some time to ponder,
being under the impression that we had not yet reached the level of despair warranted for it.
In the end we turned out to be just fine, but for the completely wrong reasons.
Tom was sensitive and receptive. When he realized that the continuing struggle to get us a child strained my soul, he acted inconsiderably
to make amends and calm my senses - and committed his best mistake ever.
He got us Kerry, a lively, blue eyed goofball of an Australian Shepard dog.
I could not even form a sentence to reprehend him, before Kerry's eyes, happy smile and wiggle released a torrent of surrogate motherly
love and affection in me, and I was hooked, just like that.
We both knew, a dog would never nullify our yearning for a child, but it attenuated the attrition and strain we felt and provided us with a little
more time. In return we were rewarded with unconditional love from this adorable, furry creature.
. .
It was three years ago, on a Saturday morning in May. I remember Tom was assigned to a solar park project in Arizona and on-site for
another week. I just had finished facetiming him when I noticed Kerry begging for a walk.
I gulped down the rest of my luke-warm coffee and dressed weatherproof. During the night it rained abundantly for hours, but now,
at 10 A.M. the sun was prevailing, dissolved the foggy remnants of clouds and the weather forecast promised a sunny day ahead.
After all, I got lots of time to bide, being alone in the house with a dog as only companion. I packed some treats, snacks and water into my
knapsack, grabbed her leash and we left. Kerry was excited, barked joyfully and jumped when I opened the trunk of my old Volvo station
wagon. She knew, we would go for a longer walk.
I had a favorite round trip through the woods, whenever I had 3 hours or more to spare. We left our little town, took the road 2 miles north,
then a right turn and followed a gravel road, until we reached a little spot to park our car. Nearby one of the trails went by, meandered through
the woods and hills, across a small stream. A few miles down it met with another one leading back to the parking spot.
It was a perfect Saturday morning walk.
As always, I was alone. Kerry and I got out, she shot straight into the nearby forest, doggishly excited, zooming and I laughed. I wished a simple
walk would excite me nearly as much as her. He whistled her to follow me. I knew she would catch up, minutes later after the initial high
had settled down.
So I wandered, at a good pace, as I always do, soaked in the damp, cold spring air, witnessed the dew evaporate slowly, listened to the birds chirping
and bleating, fighting for attention and a mate. My feet touched the soft and wet forest floor, I felt calm and at rest, breathing steadily and even,
reaching inner peace and zen. It was beautiful, and even though there was a big, gaping hole in my soul, still waiting to be filled with childish
laughter and a big eyed face to kiss, I felt content and even if it would never happen, I had the hope i would be able to endure it.
Then, suddenly Kerry stormed by me, excited and barked. Was there somebody? I called her back. She returned, but seemed endlessly agitated
and happy at the same time, and lead me to follow her.
"What did you find, Kerry?", I asked and jogged, my interest awakened.
50 yards ahead, on the forest floor, somebody was sitting. I got closer,
Kerry had already reached the source of her excitement, mustering the the person ahead, wiggling and barking joyfully.
When I reached the stranger, I saw it was a boy, all alone.
He rested on a little knoll, next to the path, a mountain bike leaned against a nearby tree trunk. He appeared unwell and distressed.
"Hello. Do you need help?", I asked him, slightly worried.
He looked maybe 10 or 11 years old, wore a helmet and typical cyclist attire, a colorful, long sleeved shirt and black lycra pants,
but I noticed he was wet and muddy, his face dirty. Then I saw the bloody scratches on his arms and the ugly abrasions below his right knee.
'Maybe he fell?', I guessed.
I mustered his face again. The strange boy was handsome, his eyes grey with a hint of green, pouty lips and a pointy nose,
Although he seemed slim, it was obviously not his first bike ride. He had strong thighs and calfs, his body radiated a prepubescent athleticism,
which, strangely enough, instantly excited me.
"Hello", he finally answered.
"I crashed my mountain bike over there going down the hill", he began to explain with a calm, but shaky voice.
"My tires are trash now and my phone destroyed", he lamented.
He showed the remains of his phone. Although it was enclosed by a black silicon case, the impact had destroyed its screen beyond
recognition. Then I gazed at his bike. The front wheel was bent and the tire completely without air,
"I crashed on a big stone, I could be dead. But it doesn't matter. My mom will kill my anyways for this.", he explained, and his voice
broke down.
He was in tears and sobbed silently, And for moment I felt completely out of my element.
What even was the right thing to do now? Should I hug and console him? I did not know this kid, was it even appropriate to interact with him?
Why did I even have to think about what the right thing to do was?
Then I scolded myself for my obvious ineptitude to handle such a minor crisis.
Here was a child in distress, alone, of course I console and help him, take care of his wounds and then bring him back home.
I approached him and stroked his back.
"Hey, I am here to help you. I am Claire, by the way!".
He looked up, his eyes wet and swollen.
"Nathaniel..., I mean Nate", he replied.
"OK Nate, nice to meet you. First, is there anything broken? Can you still move all limbs?", I inquired.
"It think so. But it hurts a bit when I move.", he answered.
"Let me help you with these scrapes. I have water and some wet wipes. I will remove the dirt and clean them a little, OK?"
He nodded silently. A woman walking her dog is always prepared. I took off my knapsack, ordered Kerry to sit next to my side and
opened it. The Aussie was still exited and mustered the hurt boy, trying to cheer him up. And while she sat and obeyed my command,
Kerry sneakily inched forward until she entered Nate's reach and begged for a pet.
The boy beamed a shy smile.
"She likes you very much", I assured him, "you can pet her if you want".
He stretched out his hand and rubbed her forehead. Kerry moaned, satisfied.
"She is so soft", Nate remarked, "What a beautiful dog!".
I opened the pack of wet wipes and knelt down.
"Of course she is all cute and cuddly. But wait until she doesn't get her will, then it's grumpy time all the sudden!",
I remarked and smiled.
Nate giggled. "Just like a kid", he noted.
"OK, Nate, this will hurt a bit. These kind of wounds burn like hell.", I announced and began to wipe the dirt and
specks from the abrasions on his leg. I was very careful, but when I looked up, he was grimacing for a bit, and then,
by accident, I glanced at his crotch.
There was a huge lump in it, and for this single second, I disregarded the initial impression. Often, a first glance can be misleading,
a delusive reflection, fabric folding in a strange way or something else.
But when my gaze scraped by for a second time, it became obvious, there was a big, heavy bulge in it, overflowing and bulky.
I felt my heartbeat accelerating. I guessed he wore some kind of suspension, like footballers do, to protected the precious
bits down there.
"I hope it isn't too bad?", I asked Nate, who sat and endured his ordeal.
"No, I will be fine", he pressed out, in obvious discomfort.
"You're doing great. I guess, you're a big boy already.", I complimented him.
Was that a smirk?
The boy smiled at me, ambiguously, then nodded.
"Of course I am, Claire!", Nate stated, matter-of-factly, with a hint of barely concealed pride.
His answer made my curiosity rise even more. Obviously I could have chosen different words, but wasn't it my intent to justify another,
third look at the overstuffed lycra between his legs?
And his smile, Oh, that little rascal. If even half of that bulge was the real thing, he would be more than just a big boy.
Absentmindedly I licked my lips while carrying on. I glanced again - It was no suspension. The bulge's outline wasn't smooth and even,
distinct shapes could be recognized behind the thin veil of the stretched out fabric.
'Oh my god' i thought and shivered. 'This cannot be true, has he stuffed a kitten in there?'.
Then I forced myself to look away, but it was too late. Of course he had caught me staring.
But instead of showing discomfort or shame, Nate just expanded his grin and nodded.
It's hard to describe, what I felt during that awkward moment.
There was, of course, the initial shame of being exposed, but his acknowledging nod was not dismissive or reproachful.
Nate showed no signs of shock or feeling violated. He was just a boy accepting a stare at his crotch and letting me,
the transgressor, off the hook complacently. This boyish smirk provided for the first gusher of pussy juice leaking into my
panties and planted the root for my illicit yearning and the events to come.
"Can you get up, Nate?", i asked.
"Sure", he answered and stood up and moved his legs, still a bit gingerly.
"Where do you live? I could give you a ride home.", i offered.
"In Pine Woods", he answered.
"But this is ... some 15 miles away from here?", I replied, slightly puzzled.
The boy shrugged.
"Yes, I got up early today. I planned a big tour and it ended with a big crash.". He grinned weakly
"Is there anybody I can call, your mother or father?", I carried on.
"My mom should be home, but her number is saved on the trashed phone, I don't have it remembered", he coyly answered.
"Not even a landline number?", I tried to dig deeper.
He shook his head.
Looking at his dirty attire and skin, I suddenly had an idea...
"Nate, how about this? We carry you and your mountain bike to my car? Luckily Kerry and I just started our walk. It's less than a mile away.
Do you think you could manage this?"
The boy lightened up.
"Sure, Claire!".
I returned an inviting smile.
"We drive to my house. You get a warm shower, a hot chocolate if you want, and some of my husband's clothes.
I look up your mom's number, call her and bring you back home, freshly showered, neat as a pin?!",
I offered him sincerley.
Nate beamed a disarming smile.
"This would be great, Claire!".
When I started my walk, I was looking for fresh air, peace and serenity. And now it seemed, I returned to my
car with a dirty boy, and even dirtier thoughts in my head.
And I felt elated. Did I know what the setup would lead to at that time? Definitely not.
Until this moment I had nothing more than a vague hope to maybe see him nude for a split second and burn this
vision forever in my mind, fantasize on it until it was bleached out and pale, until the biggest vibrator in my household would help me
succumb to my desperate lust, while I held his image close to my depraved thoughts,
At this moment however, there was nothing more than his acknowledging smirk when he caught my eyes peering at his cookie jar and my
hidden desire to taste all of them.
In hindsight I've never been more wrong in judging a situation.
. . .
We slowly followed the trail downhill. Kerry, eternally excited about the encounter, circled us, herded Nate and me back to
the car. I pushed his dented bike, while the boy trotted next to me, still gimpy and visibly hurt. He had taken off
his bicycle helmet and hung it over the handle bar, I studied his face again.
Nate's hair was ruffled and chestnut brown, the boy's complexion lightly tanned, of mediterranean quality.
I glanced at his pouty, soft lips, the pronounced philtrum and probably beamed him a dreamy smile.
We started to talk along the way. I learned he had two younger sisters, his father was a truck driver and his mother ... complicated.
I nodded appreciatively as he casually remarked he was an A-student, but by no means a nerd. The boy sounded young and naive and yet,
already level-headed and grown-up.
I adored his voice. It was a boyish alto, unexcited and sober when casual topics were addressed. But as our conversation turned to bicycles and
music, his vocals rang exalted and passionate, the energy barely contained.
In that moment I came to the aching realization there was a real chance, I'd never talk to my own son this way. These precious minutes of casual
conversation between us strangers appeared so intimate and familiar, an inkling how it would feel to to be around my growing child.
I was grasped by a dull sense of longing.
Of course, I could not help a few glances at his shorts, his strong, yet slender legs, and the lump in the middle, moving in peculiar ways,
overstuffed and bulging, but this time I made sure he would not catch me again.
A little later we reached the Volvo, I managed to stuff his bent bicycle in the trunk, Kerry hurried into her box and we drove back.
As we got closer to my house, the tension and anxiety in me slowly rose and I couldn't even fathom, why exactly.
Was it the guilty conscience already buggering me? But how could it be?
There was no sinister master plan, how I would take advantage of him, no ruthless plotting on my side. And the short-circuited thought to help
Nate and take him to my home harbored barely any ulterior motive. And if it existed, what was it exactly?
Until now I never felt, in any way, attracted to boys. God, they were a nuisance at best. Unfinished beings, fragile and high maintenance,
complicated and moody. One could adore and love them in a motherly or sisterly fashion of course. But beyond that? No way!
And yet, here I sat in my car, already shivering in anticipation of something vaguely unthinkable happening. Nate sat next to me, lazily resting,
his eyes closed, while I endured a turmoil in my head.
I sighed. He opened his eyes and mustered me, threw a faint grin.
"Are you OK, Claire?", Nate asked softly.
I nodded, avoiding his gaze and shortly after, we reached the house.
. .
I showed Nate around, then went to the kitchen, made him a hot chocolate and brewed a coffee.
Upstairs, I directed him to the large bathroom and hurried to the closet. I knew, somewhere in those drawers was a bunch of Tom's
old clothes, still from high school days.
I figured, they would be a too large for Nate, but just fine to bring him back home. His bike shirts and pants were muddy, wet and ripped.
I decided to put them in a bag later to let his mother deal with them.
After some browsing I stumbled upon a worn out jeans, a sweatshirt, an old boxer and some socks picked them up and went to the bathroom.
"Here, I got you something to dress afterwards. These are Tom's. But he won't wear them any more. They might be a bit wide,
but you'll grow into them", I handed him the batch and smiled.
"Over there is a fresh towel you can use. Now, clean yourself, Nate", I closed while I felt my heart racing.
"Thanks a lot for helping me, Claire", he thanked me.
"You're welcome Nate, very welcome!", I managed to squeeze out, turned around and went downstairs, churning.
I just couldn't take it any longer.
I tried not to care, not to think about that - by now - he would have closed the door, probably locked it (or maybe not), stripped his dirty attire,
slowly, carefully avoiding any painful moves, then fully nude, glimpsed at himself in the large bathroom mirror, with a smirk or
a boyish grin, stepped into the shower, and slowly turned around, while the warm drizzle soaked his smooth skin.
I assumed he would carefully clean and wash his body, from head to toe, but invest some extra time in his cock and balls.
Would he carefully inspect his foreskin ( if he even had one ), retract it and clean it, while looking down, focused at the matter?
Would he soap and scrub along the length of it? Would Nate wipe eagerly along his ass crack and balls?
And why on god's green earth did I even care about it? It was clearly none of business!
I sat down on the couch, but it was feeble of me to even try to relax. My body was trembling and for a short moment I scoffed at myself
and my pitiful composure. What was wrong with me?
An eternity later I heard bare footsteps, Nate came down the stairs, my chest was squeezed - a wave of anxiety spread and engulfed my
poor body in its entirety.
You may ask whether I was already under his command at this very moment? I am pretty sure, until then, it was all me, tormenting myself
with urges, implicit hopes and silly antics. But the questions stands, what the initial trigger was.
How could one glance at a boy's crotch be the catalyst for all this? Was it possible for one acknowledging nod and smirk to release such an
avalanche of conflicting emotions and turmoil in me? You may say, in all other instances: Never. If so, then I was already wrapped around his finger,
since I tended to his wounds, back in the woods.
He approached me, just the towel wrapped around his waist. I glared at his torso, smooth, yet already well defined and somewhat athletic.
His hair was disheveled and still damp. Nate stopped in front of the couch and peered at me, mysterious and eerie.
"I am very grateful, you helped me, Claire". He spoke softly.
Then he whispered.
"I know what you want!"
Puzzled, i looked up.
His eyes glared and began to glow in a beautiful, swirling grey green pattern of heavenly light. I stared, captivated and hypnotized.
"Please do not torture yourself!", he begged me and came closer. Then he unwrapped his towel. It fell to the ground
- in slow motion - and I saw, what he "really" was for the first time.
To me and in this very moment, Nate was a harbinger of youthful fertility, an otherworldly spirit. The juxtaposition of his slim body and the
powerful masculine assets attached to it, resonated in such unpredictable ways, I snapped. Something broke in me.
I stared at the perfect, hairless cock, long and thick, his large, smooth balls and succumbed.
How much of it was of my own volition? And what of it was his nudging and persuasion? How should I know?
You tell me, you lab coats and experts! What does it take to turn me into a slut?
I always thought, it was way more the world could provide for. But in reality, all it took, was this damn boy.
The only thing I know and vividly remember was, i grabbed his cock, still limp at this moment, stroked and kneaded,
as if my life depended on it. It grew longer and even fatter and erected in front of my puzzled eyes until it throbbed in its full,
powerful glory.
How big it was? How would I know? I am not that kind of woman, with a ruler in her pockets all the time. But I enclosed it with both of
my hands and can declare with certainty, another pair of them would have fit easily and still not reach over the tip.
It was slightly bent upwards now, twitched with Nate's heartbeat, the foreskin retracted, partly exposing half of his glistening cock head.
The smooth balls below, mouthwatering, were lazily swinging back and forth, large as avocados. And the smell of it!
It was addictive, there was the musky tone, clear and dominant, but attenuated, diluted and mixed with sweet innocence and a note of
metallic vanilla. It drove me insane!
You wanna know what I did next?
Yes, you're right!
I yanked back his foreskin slowly, the tip laid bare, covered in a clear, thick film of his precome. I inhaled deeply and my body shivered,
I felt an overpowering surge in my pussy and started to drip. I'd never felt so desperately horny in my life, aching for somebody to ram me
to unconsciousness and then back to my senses, I could barely breathe.
I didn't even know, boys were able to leak, but I swear to god, Nate's poured out of him, dripped down to the ground, in long gluey strings.
And I, the stupid whore, picked the glistening threads out of the air, before they would touch down and slobbered them,
like the slut I just turned into.
Then I swallowed his cock head with a hunger I never endured before, I forced him in until I began to gag, massaged his thick snake and
chugged down whatever i could muster. God, he was so big! And then I heard him whisper
"Oh, you're helping my again. Thank you!".
The temerity of it!
He thanked me for being his little cock-sleeve, his human flesh light, while he absolutely made sure I had no other option.
But... would I even have acted differently if I had a choice back then? I hate to admit, I am not so sure anymore.
His hands found my head and he began to push deeper.
"Yes Claire, deeper", he requested, whispering.
I don't know how I managed avoiding to choke, vomit and pass out. I could hardly breathe, but my throat felt no pain, was somehow numbed.
He forced my head down, accelerating, jerked me up and down, entered my throat and fucked it like a puppet head.
Shortly before I began to fear for my life, Nate let out a long moan, followed by a boyish, alto whimper.
"Aah, Claire", he announced, caught in the bliss of is buildup, "I cannot hold it"
And then this little bugger unloaded, straight into my throat, I felt him pulse and the hot, sticky cum splattered into my stomach.
Nate threw back his head, his eyes closed, the legs trembling. The fat balls, close to his body, unleashed a torrent of jizz.
But he was a grateful boy, After 10 pulses or so, still shooting, he pulled out, until the fat glans rested on my tongue again.
Then he carried on, and plastered my tongue and mouth with the remainder of his climax.
He wanted me to taste and chew on it, twiddling with the gooey strands, using my tongue. I was overwhelmed and swallowed,
obediently, like a cum slut, like a bukkake princess, while his virile, viscous, boiling cum gurgled.
Then he finally cooled down and exhaled.
His half-hard, squeezed cock hung like a snake between his athletic legs, heavy, long and dripping.
Nate giggled, like a typical 11 year old boy.
"Thank you, Claire. I liked that very much", he announced joyfully, went over to the kitchen and
helped himself with some water.
What the fuck now, Claire? How stupid was I?
Something monstrous just happened, and it wasn't me who felt like the perpetrator. How to carry on from here?
Compliment each other and say good bye? Coy and awkward stares that will haunt us in sleepless nights for years to come?
I dived deep into me and what I found did not console me the least, it frightened me!
I just saw what Nate was capable of. I was pretty damn sure there were millions of his little swimmers still clinging to the back of my throat.
He returned to the living room, beautifully naked, not shy to flounce it, stared at me, read my face and,what I learned, my thoughts as well.
Then he plainly announced.
"I know what you wish the most, Claire. It can be given to you!"
It was no offer, I reckoned, no suggestion or proposal. But no order or command either. Instead it seemed to be a factual statement, as if no
human intervention was needed or could influence its outcome..
I looked up, trying to make sense.
"What do you mean, Nate?". I hoped for some assertiveness in my voice, but to him, it must have sounded desperate and foolish.
Now his eyes exuded sadness and empathy. Nate tilted his head for a second. He approached and sat next to me.
"I.... I see what torments your soul, Claire, and I feel very sorry about it."
His hand reached out and touched my cheek. He tenderly stroked it.
"You want nothing more than a baby, You and Tom try for years now, and it slowly eats your soul.", he stated calmly.
I blenched, completely shocked. How could he know? For a split second I wanted to jump up and scream all my anguish at him,
but instead, I stared, in horror and fell back little later, defeated and empty.I just accepted his insight, as if he was a close friend, privy to my ordeals,
I gazed at Nate again, my eyes wet and i nodded weakly.
"Just say YES, and i will gift you a healthy baby boy!", he offered.
He laid out his plan:
"You are receptive today. It will be yours and Tom's and nobody ever will know, except you and me. Your mind is beautiful, your soul
strong and precious. I want you two to be happy again."
Now I started to sob. I, the grown up woman bawled like a little girl in front of a strange 11 year old boy. I did not feel shamed.
He had peered into my soul and empathized with my anguish, felt for me. I hugged him and Nate consoled me for minutes, while I
relieved myself, he was a surrogate dad now, fatherly and wise, and suddenly, I was no longer subject to his little pervert's game.
The spell was lifted.
With clarity regained, I looked at him, full of yearning and longing.
He, the babyfather prospect, still a boy himself, still frail but nimble, and more powerful and virile
I could have ever hoped for. It did not need any persuasion, or mind trick. With total conviction I peered at him
and said. "YES, Nate!"
We both got up and hugged
It was no longer a game for him, neither for me, but an act of intimate help for a soul in dire need.
It was the right thing to do, he figured and I accepted, aching to fulfill my dearest wish.
When I lead him to the guest room, I sensed the arousal wafting from our bodies.
I sat down on the bed and becked him. He came close and I allowed for a few silent seconds of admiring his
obvious beauty. I somehow missed parts of it earlier, when he persuaded me to perform the little blowjob
downstairs.
But gosh, he was probably a hunk in progress, his youthful muscles tense and firm. The boyish chest, full of anticipation,
heaving up and down, his shoulders still slim and innocent, the legs and calfs strong and delicately chiseled by 1000s miles
of cycling. And what a cute butt Nate had, firm, round, delicious and in perfect proportion to the rest of his frame.
I kneaded it tenderly, as my hands felt his shoulders and back, noted the humming of his body, the anticipatory tension in him.
Then of course, is dick, but it needed no further introduction.
After a minute I could not hold up the tease and foreplay any longer. I was too worn and strained,
too eager to get it finished and feel his seed in me. Thus, the act of baby-making commenced.
How it went, you may ask?
Well, what does an eleven year old boy even know about sex?
Heck, when I was 11, sex was a dirty word, uttered behind the back, giggling. A mystery, somehow connected to the remote world
of adulthood and having fun with each other. And when sex-ed came, I remember, we were appalled and disgusted, the act was shown
with scientific bluntness and cold. Nobody of us could imagine it being fun. We even questioned our parent's sanity for having us in
the first place.
How could people do something so icky, willfully?
Later when we gained our own experiences in the field, in tree houses, at the creek during night swimming, on the backseat of a car,
we realized, human emotions, senses and urges, cushion and protect us from the mechanical, cold aspects of it.
The act was expanded by adding intimacy, closeness, longing and bliss. Piece by piece each of us worked on this little puzzle and we
ended up with an ever incomplete, but more comprehensive picture of the mystery.
So what does an eleven year old boy know about it?
Nothing!!
But Nate was different!
And I was positively surprised. Nate wasn't gentle, but energetic and brash, and to be honest, I didn't mind at all. I wanted to experience
him like he was: unfinished, uninhibited and boyish blunt, yet sincere, frightening because of his powers, yet close and intimate when he
empathized with me.
He devoured my body with his strokes and kisses, petted my breasts and painfully erect nipples, explored the slick wetness of my pussy with
his fingers and licked them clean afterwards! What a naughty boy!
I embraced his vibrating, youthful frame and sensed the wiry muscles moving, the accelerating breath and his engorged, throbbing
member between us, slippery and pulsating, full of anticipation! I had no idea, how often he had done this in his young life, but it became
obvious, he had was a quick learner!
And oh, how it felt, when he finally entered me. He was a bit impatient and eager, stretched me painfully good. Nate was way bigger than
Tom and for a moment I felt just a bit intimidated by the boy's panting attempts to stuff his monster in me. But after a while he succeeded,
the pain subsided and was replaced by a stretched-out and stuffed feeling. Nate filled me completely and then a little more, moaned
and whimpered, while I was hit by a blast wave of arousal.
His slight upward bent stimulated strange and unknown parts in me and then he began to pump with vigor and dedication.
"It feels so good", he moaned as he picked up pace, his boyish hips moved swift and gracefully, our bodies smacked and collided.
Energetic soon became powerful and thrusting, and I began to adore his youthful stamina.
The tingling sensation in me, soon made way for a forceful clamping. My pussy, stretched to its absolute limits, strangled his angry cock,
fought for room and dominance, and I began to lose it, let out a long, bloodcurling moan while he carried on smacking with all he had
in store for me.
Then my orgasm came as a carthartic blast wave. At the same moment Nate rammed into my cervix. A sudden, sharp pain robbed my
breath and mingled with the pleasure of my climax, formed a mind numbing, ambiguous construct of bliss and suffering
that devoured me.
With a whimper and his teeth nibbling on the lower lip, my little baby father threw back his head.
His body trembled. For one last time, he went into me, directly to the portal of my womb, invested all his strength to go as deep as he could,
rested there, and began to unleash.
I wouldn't consider myself a fetishist when it comes to shooting. But I love a good show when I see one. In this case, sadly, it was all concealed
and private. And yet, with every fiber of my body I could sense the massive splatters of Nate's cum flooding my innards. It was heavenly, powerful,
virile, and the boy completely exhausted himself while cumming his sweet little brains out.
After 6 or seven of his spurts, I sensed how it flooded back on the towel beneath us, but I kept still, until he collapsed between my breasts,
drained and happy - a big puddle of our mixed emissions between our legs.
For a while, there was nothing. Just slowly decelerating breathing, a silent moan and whimper. I felt calm and satiated, embraced the shivering boy,
ruffled his damp chestnut hair and enjoyed the warm afterglow of our act. It was not the greatest sex I ever had, but hopefully the most important.
"What do you think, Nate. Will it work?", I whispered while stroking his back.
He gazed at me, exhausted and smiled weakly.
"If THIS doesn't work, than nothing will!". His head fell back between my breasts.
"I thank you, Nate", I mumbled, exhaled and rested for another 10 minutes.
. . .
Things moved fast after we regained some strength. We went to the showers, Nate slipped into Tom's old clothes and for a second I suffered a strange
deja-vu, imagined him being the Tom of old, my High School sweetheart, and grimaced. It took me 1 minute to google Nate's home address and
telephone number, brewed a coffee, collected myself and called.
Mrs. Miller's voice was bland and quiet.
i gave her a short summary of the situation and whereabouts of her offspring.
She reacted apathetic and I was puzzled.
Of curse she asked if Nate was OK, but there was no excitement or agitation in her voice. Instead of relief I found neutral acknowledgement.
I shrugged and hung up.
Nate and I got into the Volvo again. During the 20 minute drive there was silence between us. But no regret or hidden reproach hung in the air -
the vibrations were neutral and balanced - as if a contract was fulfilled, a debt payed - no further interaction was warranted.
The silence was not overwhelming, but I admit it bothered me. Nate however, appeared calm and relaxed, a satisfied, faint grin on his face.
When I finally tried to start a conversation and thanked him again, he nodded.
Then, with a serious glance, he replied:
"It's now yours and Tom's, like I said. I will never talk about this again!".
A closing statement. Definitive, but not cold. And yet I was surprised by its assertiveness and detachment.
Was this how he dealt with the prospect of probably never meeting his child? Did he fear, one day he would,
succumbing to fatherly conscientiousness, trying to contact me? I shrugged and kept silence.
We reached the destination. Nate's home was a wooden, shabby house, behind a scrap-filled, overgrown front yard
A frail, bleached wooden fence surrounded the property.
I stopped, Nate got out, went to the trunk and balanced his bicycle to the ground. Then he pushed it slowly to the shoddy garage
next to the house.
Meanwhile his mother approached. I left the my car and gazed at her.
She was a thin, small woman, I guessed in her mid forties. Her greying, straight, brunette hair was tied to a long pigtail.
She wore a bleached jeans jacket and mustered me with an ambiguous look.
"Hello Mrs. Miller", I greeted friendly while she reluctantly shook my hand.
"I bring your son, hopefully intact, but the bike and his phone suffered a few scratches",I announced casually and smiled at her.
Mrs Miller stared at me for a while. Nate returned, hugged his mother and was immediately asked to leave.
"Thanks for all, Claire, Good Bye!".
Nate waved and smiled, turned around and went into the house, still gingerly.
"Thanks for you help, Claire!", Mrs. Miller finally addressed me.
"Nathaniel can fix the bicycle himself. But the phone is broken for weeks now", she explained.
I felt a rush of adrenaline pulse through my veins.
"How was he?", his mother asked and peered at me.
For a second I feared to faint. Did I blush? I prayed to god, my swelling throat wouldn't squeeze my voice to a miserable croak.
Why did Nate tell me the phone was cracked during his accident?
And what did this question even mean? How was he?
Hurt and injured he was, and then amicable and debonair, then naughty and frightening, and at last he was energetic and helpful, Mrs. Miller.
Was it this, she wanted me to confess?
Seconds ticket by and I tried to collect myself.
"He behaved very well. I discovered him on my walk with my dog, Kerry, in the woods 15 miles away.
Since his bike was bent and he could not remember your phone number, I took him to my home, helped with his scratches
and gave him some clothes. The dirty ones are in the bag", I explained to her, but it sounded more like a lame excuse
than a truthful account of the past events. I handed her the bag.
"Thanks. But how was he?", she asked again, not reproachful but with slight worry in her voice.
Her question seemingly pointed at the core of our illicit deeds. But dear god, why?
Did she have a phone in her pocket, recording everything, to tip off the police?
I just could not answer - desperate and miserable.
This was a nightmare!
"Was he kind and friendly?", Mrs Miller asked, bland and without emotion.
I shrugged.
"I am sorry, Mrs Miller, I don't think I ..."
"Claire, don't be foolish!"; she reprehended me. "I know my son. I saw the peaceful glimmer in his eyes. I know ... he relieved himself."
I swallowed, exposed to my bones, waiting for the gates of hell to open and devour me.
"Yes, Mrs. Miller, he was .... very kind indeed!", I stammered and prayed for a stroke to fell me on the spot.
Let my misery end right here!
Finally she grinned. There was no amusement in her smile, but relief instead.
"Fine then. Sometimes Nathaniel is angry and furious. Then you don't want to be near him".
She paused for a few seconds.
"He is my son, and I love him, but ... nothing is hidden from him. You learned that Claire, didn't you?".
I slowly nodded.
"He must have liked you. You are not the first strange woman returning my boy. I just want to make sure, you are OK.
I am sure he IS.", she remarked.
Finally some hope returned.
"Yes, I am very OK, Mrs. Miller"
"Very well, then. Good Bye, Claire!".
She turned around and walked back to the house, slow and tired.
And now I understood.
There she went, mother to a child with a frightening, strange gift, stoicly carrying her burden, its weight bearing down on her constantly,
her love still intact, but strained and battered by his powers. She had probably lost control over her own flesh and blood years ago,
saw him mature, terrify and overpower her, and yet, she went on.
How must it be to live with him?
I felt a deep appreciation for her and walked to my car, dumbfounded and humbled.
I drove back, slowly and lost in an ocean of thoughts, pondered how much of it all was coincidence or destiny, where his sway began
and my will ended, but who could tell exactly?
In hindsight it was very likely he saw all through me from the moment we met, read my thoughts and inner musings, still decided to come
with me, have some fun, "relieve himself" as his mother described it. What an euphemism for what just happened!
Then he discovered my despair and offered his help. I never felt so abused and cared for at the same moment. It was strange.
After my rationalization I still embraced the memory of his samaritian act, the exhausting
thrust and his powerful pulsing in me and was eternally thankful for his gift.
Until now we haven't seen each other again, nor exchanged a single message or phone call. And since your ... organization has
found him now, I guess it's for the better. I hope, he is well. I'd really want to tell him, that it worked out
just fine - all his efforts were worth it!
. . .
A few days later Tom returned and we had the greatest welcome-back sex ever. He was horny and eager and I?
I was full of anticipation and near certainty, that it would work this time.
4 weeks later I was officially pregnant and the joy and tears in our eyes were immeasurable. Tom felt reinstated and rehabilitated.
We would soon be a real, little family, with a kid!
The good news and my slowly growing belly reinforced the bond between us. I was able to detach myself from all second thoughts and doubts.
Of course I knew, what really happened, but chose to ignore it, for the sake of our marriage and sanity.
Because sometimes you find relief in the aspects of life not exposed to you. In Tom's case, it rang absolutely true.
Ignorance is bliss, they say and I fought hard to follow this mantra.
A little later it became obvious, it would be a boy. How could Nate know? Maybe he didn't. After all, it's a fifty-fifty chance.
We chose a name for our son: Eric.
The ultrasound pictures showed his delicate, tiny body, floating and twitching, like an alien life form, strangely fascinating and adorable.
And they revealed a prominent, protruding limb between his legs: an already oversized penis, throbbing and eternally erect. I felt proud and
peculiarly aroused.
Some mothers develop a morbid fascination and attachment to their child, especially if it's a boy. And the thought that I may be consumed
by such a depraved affection made me shudder. I hastily buried that notion and yet, now and then it returned, nagging and luring, urged me to
explore the boundaries of motherly love in my fantasy. I admit, I gave in sometimes, pining for Eric to finally appear.
. . .
Eric is now 2 years old and the light of my life. He's a bright and lively toddler, speaks fluently, is inquisitive and kind. He got daddy's sparkling
grey-green eyes and my sandy blonde hair. And of course, just like his daddy, he's a naughty little boy.
His little underpants are overflowing with a hefty, oversized, thick boy cock, already 5 inches long, with fat and smooth balls. I love when he
is storming through the house, naked and giggling, after escaping from the bathroom, when he's sitting on the ground in front of his toys and
absentmindedly fiddles around until it grows and gets hard.
I sit still and watch wide-eyed, under his spell, as my son walks towards me, naked and throbbing, to show me how big it already is.
I am a proud mother now - just a little bit worried about going insane soon - and reach out to grasp the forbidden fruit again,
wondering if this is the punishment for my deeds...
=== END OF REPORT ===
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Subject Identification: Nathaniel Miller, Jr.
Institute ID: 008231-14
Class: Newcomer
Investigator: James Lynch, SDI
Subject Status: Incorporated and Active
Note:
According to the rules of procedure, the reporter has been relieved of all recollections in relation to the encounter after the testimony.
It's advised, that Eric Williams will be examined around 2021-04 to assess his status.