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Introduction:

Robert searches for and finds his young lover . . . pregnant
This is proposed as a sequel to the item entitled “Food court” by hornyhubby74, dated 2-11-11, which is an exceptional piece of writing and which is a real joy to read. The storyline, the characters and the foundation are inspired by his work alone, and if what appears below is worthwhile, the credit all goes to him. If, on the other hand, what appears below is garbage, the fault is all mine. A big “Thank you” to hornyhubby74, along with an “I’m sorry”, depending on how this bird lands. (I’ve drafted Parts 3 and 4 of this story line, as well, and will post them if there’s interest . . . and absent objection from hornyhubby74.)

Food Court 2

Robert held the memory of the young girl from the food court in his mind for the entire next week, barely able to focus on work or think of anything else at all. Pregnant! SHIT!! His 15-year-old daughter Megan had pointed at the girl standing out in front of school and told him that she’d gotten pregnant by “some old guy” at the mall. Robert was that “old guy”, and he felt as though he was standing in quicksand and quickly going down.

He’d met her at the mall food court where she worked one of the stands, they’d slipped away on a mutual whim and sneaked into one of the empty stores, made wild love in a dressing room and produced five or more orgasms for her, and one gigantic orgasm for him . . . which he’d deposited into her incredible pussy. He hadn’t asked about birth control before exploding into her, and she hadn’t told, though she had said after, “I’ve never let anyone do that before”. What that meant, it seemed clear now, was that she’d never had unprotected intercourse to discharge. It also meant that there was a 16-year-old girl in the world carrying his child, and that neither of them knew the other’s name.

After wrestling with the moralities, the ethics, the realities and the practicalities all day, every day, for seven days — and seven nights — he arrived at a plan. It was a plan that would make no one happy, but was the least evil of all the possible available evils, and which would put the bulk of any burden on him alone. He would go talk to the girl, identify himself, explain that he’d looked for her after that extraordinary afternoon in the empty store at her mall, and offer to help her get an abortion or put the child up for adoption, or whatever she wanted to do. He knew he was risking jail time (the girl was obviously well under-age), losing his wife and family, and being ostracized by his employer: he’d been working at that mall to close down one of their retail outlets hit by the declining economy. His hope, and prayer, was that the girl would be forgiving and that they could keep the events just between themselves, without involving the authorities, her parents, or his family. He thought his wife might forgive him, after a long period of pain, but the four kids — of which Megan was oldest at 15 — wouldn’t. Ever.

He stalked the food court, going by in the mornings on his way to work, and on the way home at night. No sign of her at all. This lasted for two weeks or more. He’d subsequently learned from Megan, by way of studiously casual questioning, that the girl’s name was Desirae, and he kept thinking how he’d have no trouble remembering it because “desire” was what he’d felt for her that day — in no small part because he knew she was young — and every day for the four weeks thereafter that he’d looked for her and not found her, hoping then for a repeat performance of that initial afternoon’s tryst. The girl was an unbelievably gifted lover, was capable of multiple orgasms, had a fabulous pussy, was hyper-aggressive and was unnaturally enthusiastic. None of that was ever true of his wife, and it certainly wasn’t true now. Likewise, “desire” was what had gotten him into this mess. No, he’d have no trouble remembering the girl’s name. He was conflicted about what he’d felt that afternoon and what he felt now, but he knew he couldn’t do nothing: he had to act. He had to be responsible. Be adult. Take his medicine. Find the girl, do what was right, and hope for the best. Hope not to go to jail or be killed by her parents.

Finally, one Friday, he decided to alter his routine and go to the mall mid-afternoon, thinking that she might be catching shifts right after school got out and only working for a few hours. His fear was that she’d moved on to another job, and he’d have to involve Megan in finding and contacting her. He walked through the mall doors, turned toward the court and felt his heart racing: he’d been nervous every time he’d come by before, but this was different somehow. He felt optimistic that he’d find her. He had never walked up to the counter to ask “Is Desirae here?”, or “When does Desirae come in?”, not wanting to alert her indirectly to his search.

He passed the pizza-by-the-slice joint and came up to what he now thought of as “her store”, a taco-burrito stand that also served sandwich wraps. She wasn’t there. Again. He didn’t know if he should feel relieved or disappointed, so he settled on feeling a little of both. He wanted to see her, to get the initial shock behind them, but he was still pumping high-test fear through his veins. He turned to walk back and wait at his usual perch, a steel column rising up to the sky-light, when from the corner of his eye, he saw a shape passing into the walkway leading behind the stands. He couldn’t see the face, because it was turned away from him, but he could see the torso. Whoever it was, was pregnant.

“Desirae”, he called out, not in a shout, because the fear was still flowing, but in full speaking voice, and she turned immediately toward him, flashing the same smile that had first drawn him to her.

The smile faded instantly, and she stopped dead still, looking at him. She retained that pose for several seconds, realizing who he was, but assessing her next step. She didn’t step, though: she stood, expressionless.

Robert walked toward her, slowly, not wanting to frighten her away, or risk her calling anyone. He wanted this kept quiet, and prayed that’s how it would go. He came to a halt some five or six feet in front of her, and stood there, silent.

Finally, she broke the silence. “How do you know my name? I never told you that.” He had already decided to just tell the truth, or as much of it as he could. “You go to school with my daughter, Megan, and I saw you there one morning: I think you guys have chemistry together”, he answered. “And American Civ and art”, she added quickly, as if finishing his sentence. So far, so good, he thought to himself: no police, no weapons, no kicking, no yelling, no gunplay. He nodded at that last little report on high school scheduling, hoping not to have to say one word more than was absolutely necessary, and allowing her to become comfortable with him being physically near her again.

Unfortunately for Robert, she said nothing, which just aped up the tension. The pause seemed to last forever, with the two of them, grown man and pregnant teenager, standing there, in the big mall, with an electric force field arcing between them. “I guess Megs told you . . .”, she said, using Megan’s nickname, to which he immediately said, “Yes, sweetheart; that’s why I’m here.”

“Sweetheart”? “Sweetheart”? “What possessed me to say that?”, he thought. “God, I am such a fucking moron”, he continued, only in his head: “Do I take it back? Explain it somehow? Shit! What now?”

The painful silence fell again over the small congregation, and the tension increased exponentially. Robert’s thoughts swung wildly from fear to embarrassment to shame to arousal. Yes, arousal. He still had the hots for the girl, but knew he had to suppress it under these horrid circumstances, but that tension could be read in different ways. He just hoped she was too naive to pick up on THAT particular signal.

Desirae broke the silence, and staked out her claim to being the adult in the group. “I’ve wondered what would happen if I ever saw you again, if you just walked back into my life again, or if we met on the street. I didn’t look for you because I didn’t know your name.”

“Robert”, he said. “Hi, Robert”, she said, and stepped across toward him, holding out her hand, “it’s nice to meet you.” And then the most extraordinary thing happened. A thing that Robert had never expected, had not seen coming, and had never even fantasized about, after learning of the pregnancy. She smiled.

It was that smile that he’d seen on the first afternoon, when they had become lovers, and when they had made a baby. Their baby. It was a beautiful smile, an open smile, a smile that involved her entire face and that he would never, ever forget. That he could never, ever forget.

She looked up at him from nearly a foot below his face, held his hand, held his gaze, and held his life. “I didn’t know”, she continued her previous thought, “if I would yell or cry or call my parents or run. I just had no clue.” Robert was speechless, not wanting to get her off her train of thought or risk angering her, so he remained mute. “But of all the possibilities, it never occurred to me that this would happen.”

He had no idea what “this” she was talking about. In his mind, he replayed the last few moments, and finding nothing unusual, flipped through the limited mental list of things he knew teenaged females think about and, again, came up with nothing. He still held her hand, still looked at her, and she somehow sensed his confusion and worry, and clarified her remark.

“It never occurred to me, Robert, that you would make me wet.” And somehow, the biggest smile he’d ever seen broadened. “You’re . . .?”, he began. She exhaled deeply, saying “God”, inhaled, “I’m fucking dripping, darling.”

Shocked, he looked around him again, as he had that first time, thinking it might be a set-up, but she read his mind and allayed his fears as she had before. “I couldn’t have known you’d be here, so there’s no way I could have laid a trap, darling.” The last word of each of her two most recent sentences suddenly sunk in — “darling” — along with her reassurance that what appeared to be happening was happening.

Desirae kept her status as the only clear-thinking adult in the group, and said to him, “Darling, I think we should make a return trip to ‘our place’, don’t you? For old times’ sake, hmmm? Darling?”

Intellectually, he realized that teenaged girls in the 21st century don’t use the word “darling”, but coming from this child’s mouth, it sounded as if she were calling him by some royal title, and sounded perfectly heartfelt. He assumed she was merely adopting a pseudo-adult attitude that might make him more comfortable. Yes, she was being the adult and was being the thoughtful one of the two of them. He didn’t know what to say, again, so he said nothing, again. In some places, the law considers silence to be acquiescence, and Desirae apparently subscribed to that school of legal thought.

Before he’d had a chance to utter a word, or even a sound, she squeezed his hand a bit harder, turned and pulled him down the walkway behind the stands, pulled open the door to “her store”, stuck her head inside — still holding his hand, as if he were a child prone to stray from her — and yelled, “Ken! I’m going to lunch!”, a declaration that was followed immediately from within by “Lunch??! You haven’t even clocked-in yet!”, to which Desirae shot back, “If you want to fire me, asshole, fire me! I’m going to fucking lunch! Now!!! I’ll see you when I fucking see you.” Not allowing time for a reply, she slammed the door, laughed out loud, filling the hallway with the sound of it, smiled at Robert again, pulled a one-eighty and headed back the way they’d come, with the older man still in tow, and turned to head toward “their place”, the empty store where he’d filled her with his manhood, and then with his semen. And then with his baby.

She still had his hand in hers, leading him down through the mall, not caring one little bit about how that action might look to passersby. Not that there were many at the moment, a little grace for which Robert, the still-frightened (but rallying) child, was grateful.

The moment they entered the between-store accessway, through which any mall employee might have entered to get to his or her own space, she turned on him immediately, allowed the door to slam shut, and then pushed herself against him, pressed him against the back of the door, threw back her head, slinging thick, luxuriant, bright-red hair in every direction except over her face, stood up on her tiptoes, raised her face up to his and stuck her tongue in his mouth, going to work first on his palate, then on his teeth, then on the insides of his lips and cheeks. She was hungry and she was eating. Like an animal.

Without warning, she extracted her tongue from his mouth, dropped back down on her feet, and then looked up at him with the most lascivious smile he’d ever seen. The little-girl, blossoming-woman smile was gone. The predator smile was here.

Desirae looked at him that way, waiting, he assumed, for him to say something. He assumed wrong. She was only pausing for dramatic silence. She smiled just slightly wider, parted her lips and spoke.

“Fuck me”, she said.

“But ‘our place’ is only . . .”, he said, before being interrupted by her: “Fuck me, darling. Right here. Right now. Don’t wait. Fuck me.”

“But the store is just right down . . .”, he tried, looking past her, hoping to get her out of sight of any eyes that might enter the accessway, but to no avail. “It’s too far”, she pretend-whined, “and I can’t wait that long, so just fuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmeFUCKME!!!” And with that, she unzipped her skirt, dropped it to the floor, ripped off her thong and went to work on his pants. Where she had fumbled with his clothing before, she was smooth now. She got his belt off in one pull, pants undone and underwear down in one fluid motion. “I’ll blow you later, darling, but right now . . . I . . . want . . . that . . . thing . . . IN!” She pulled twice on his already-hard cock, turned herself around, bent over at the waist, reached behind her, grabbed her ass cheeks, opened them, and presented.

Her anus was more readily available, but he could see pussy, and he could smell it. She hadn’t been lying before about dripping: she was beyond ready and beyond lubed. “Come on, darling: hurry and stick me. I want to walk down to ‘our place’ with the feel of your cum sliding down my legs, like it did when we were leaving before: this time, I want that feeling coming and going . . . so to speak”. She laughed out loud again, and Robert thought he should wait for her to stop, but she stopped short, and immediately restated her idea: “STICK ME!”

He took her by the hips, widened his stance, squatted a bit, to account for the difference in their height, and placed the tip of his cock at the opening of her pussy, feeling the heat pouring out of the child. He thought back to his worry about her pregnancy, decided that she couldn’t get any more pregnant than she already was, and plunged himself into her. All of it, all at once. She took it all, and moaned a moan of delight. And she laughed: “Looks like I wasn’t only one who wanted this!” She looked back at him over her shoulder and said, “We probably shouldn’t stay here too long, so I want you to pump me four times, and then cum. Can you do that?”

Robert had no idea if he could cum on command, because he’d never done it, so again, he said nothing. Desirae, clearly, wasn’t a girl who appreciated silence, so again, she took control. “Pull back a little, until there’s only, like, an inch of you still sticking in me.” He didn’t like that idea so much, because being buried in a 16-year-old girl who’s carrying your baby is not something you want to back out of; not at all. But she was good at directions, and it was those directions that had gotten the two of them to this point, so he started backing away, slowly, not wanting to leave even an inch of this heaven he was in.

He slid back and back and back, until he could see all but about an inch of his cock, and he was leaning with his back against the door leading out into the mall. The lucky inch was still inside the hottest child he’d ever known and had ever read about. As his reverie on her pussy and his amazing fortune continued, she turned her face back forward, braced herself on her knees, pushed him more solidly against the door, and said, “Ready, darling?”

He tried to remember his instructions — how many pumps? — but hesitated a split-second too long. SHE slammed HIM. One, two, three, four times she hammered, squeezing his cock with that overheated, overlubricated pussy harder with each pounding. With the fourth hit, she took him all the way in, held him there, tightly, and then arched her back up, to about a 45-degree angle, bending his cock upwards inside her hole. She pressed her ass against his lower abdomen, glanced over her shoulder, and instructed him yet again, through gritted teeth. “Give me another baby, darling.”

He knew that she knew the obstetrics of that idea were off, but it was such a perfectly sexy thing to say under the circumstances, and it captured something important, but not yet spoken, between the two lovers. The heat of the animal’s body, her aggression, her control, her tightness, the bend of the cock (just so), the look on her face — and her youth — was too much. He filled her, again, with semen, trying and hoping and (he could barely believe it himself) wanting to give her another baby. The sexuality of the moment was relief and release enough, but it was compounded by the fact that this act would be creating a relationship, not a scandal. He came in waves, repeatedly pumping her hole with more and more cream. “Don’t stop”, she would occasionally encourage him, feeling the warmth flooding her, and feeling it strike her inner walls and slosh within. She pushed against hard again, so that he could feel the tip of him stretching against the back of her vagina, and pressing against her sealed womb.

When she finally felt the pulses ebb, she plopped off his dick, turned and kissed him, took his hand in hers, slid it down between her upper thighs, smiled, and said “Feel”. The cum — his cum — was flowing from her in hot, thick, viscous rivulets. She smiled up at him even more brightly, and said, “Dear God, that’s TWICE the amount you gave me before, and what you gave me before was un-fucking-believable!” She felt the seepage, with her fingers and his, and then said, “Maybe we’ll have twins! Or triplets!! Or maybe we’ll take the place of Jon and Kate by having EIGHT!”

She leaned up into his chest, kissed him again on the mouth, saying “Christ Almighty, I love that dick of yours, I just fucking LOVE how much you come”, paused, and added, “and I love you, too.” Before he could formulate an answer to that, she pulled away and said, “Come on, darling: we need to get you into ‘our place’ and let you lie down, before you fall down.” She was a sensitive, aware girl, a rarity: most teenagers of any sex are sure the full universe revolves around them, and have no idea what’s going on even with their own friends, unless there’s drama involved. This girl knew he was teetering, from the massive orgasm and from the relief of not being on the way to jail, and knew he needed to lie down.

She picked up her skirt and torn thong, balled them up and stuck them under her arm, reached down and pulled up his pants and handed him his belt, and turned and led him away from the door and toward their destination. As they got to about fifteen feet from the door to the empty store, another mall employee opened the accessway door behind them. “Don’t look back”, Robert said, moving to hide the half-naked teenager from the view of the newcomer, and urging her to keep walking toward the door. A yell from behind them: “Hey, what are you two doing down there? You aren’t supposed to be here.”

“Keep on going, Desirae”, Robert whispered to her, as he turned to face the guy who’d called out to them, still blocking, he hoped, any view of Desirae’s lower half. Fortunately, the mall had removed some of the lights down this pathway, trying to cut costs, so it wasn’t terribly well-lit. “It’s okay, pal”, Robert called down the hall to him, “I’m District VP for Femme-Fashion: we closed a store here about a month ago, and I came back to talk to mall-management about the lease. Somehow I broke my belt-buckle, and I’m going in here to fix it where it’s quiet.”

“Why’s she with you?”, he asked, nodding at Desirae. “My daughter”, Robert lied, knowing there was no way he could prove otherwise. “Hunh . . .”, was all he said, turning away and entering a door to another store, nearer to the door against which he had just been fucked by his teenaged lover. “Lover” was a word he suddenly found very beautiful, being able to apply it to this girl.

Desirae opened the door to “our place”, and they stepped inside, sat down, and kissed. “‘Daughter’, huh?”, she teased. “First thing that came to my mind”, he said. “So”, she said, and added, “you gonna fuck your daughter again, or what?” They both laughed. “You nasty, nasty, nasty fuck”, she said. To which he responded, “Darling”, returning her own word to her, “it takes one to know one.”

[Parts 3 and 4 drafted but not posted as of 4/24/11]
8 comments

anonymous readerReport

2011-06-17 19:35:30
I love how nasty Desirae is, and the fact that she knows the guy's own daughter. And totally I agree with one of the comments about the daughter finding out about the relationship, getting turned on by it (instead of being mad), and then getting knocked up, too: now, that really WOULD be nasty! Please give us more!!

anonymous readerReport

2011-05-11 03:04:53
كوردستان سكس

anonymous readerReport

2011-04-26 01:55:26
For the record, there is already a sequel to the Food Court story by the same author. If you read the "For Better or Worse" series by the author, the pregnant girl ends up coming to live with the family and his wife ends up pregnant by some black guy. Good read.

anonymous readerReport

2011-04-25 18:52:48
well done, i approve

anonymous readerReport

2011-04-24 22:20:36
very nicely written from a new author

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