“How many do you think are in there?” I asked in a soft, possessive growl, throbbing against the underside of her bulging little belly.
Jumoke gave me an admonishing but then lovingly wry look at how hopelessly horny I was for her, pursing her lips in appreciation for being such a desired female.
I felt her hands slide over the top of mine in a gesture of affection, but at the same time, the slut in her couldn’t help but drive me wild by starting to gyrate her hips to push out her tight pregnant belly, slowly undulating against me and my big straining dick.
My horny maid looked at me, tipping her head slowly as she traced my hands in hers over her gently moving bump.
“You fuck me too much, ah, want me to be so preg-nant, I know…” she intoned in a sexy little hiss. “I go clinic, see, but…my body say there must be more baby.” She ran her tongue along her teeth, over her upper lip, nodding. “I think I making two baby now for you, Chizzy Daddy…” Jumoke declared huskily, proudly, in what was the most erotic fucking moment of my teenage life.
My sexy maid let out a lusty wail as I responded by gripping her hips and twisting her around to force her up against the shower wall, covering us in its welcoming jet.
She grunted throatily as I manhandled her, hands bracing into the tile as I brutishly spread her legs with my knees, pushing her ass up to present her hairy, well-used cunt to me. Her back arched as she surrendered herself again, the distended globe of her abdomen with its popped navel hanging between her legs driving me absolutely insane.
With a snarl, I unceremoniously hilted her, easily stretching her well-used pussy to swallow my entire length again. The thought of my woman’s body growing massively pregnant with a crowded womb, squirming heavily with multiple children…something primitive took over.
I fucked her hard and deep, head back as the water washed over our bodies. She whimpered and cried out with each thrust, pushed further and further up against the wall, belly and breasts swinging as I pistoned in and out. All she could do was spread her legs wider to let me use her and ravage her pregnant body.
I existed only to seed this woman at that moment, to relish in all the fruits and forbidden pleasures of her body. To show her that I was a grateful, possessive mate.
My selfish orgasm came first as I ground into her as deep as I could, once again marking this truly fertile female as my property. Ever a slave to my big cock, Jumoke came soon after my hot cum exploded into her hairy cunt, her pussy lips winking around me as she trembled against the wet, cascading tile wall with a hoarse whine of ecstasy.
Truly drained, I huffed against her back, draped over her small body as I clutched her belly and gripped a heavy breast, toying with her nipple. Jumoke came again, then again, before looking back at me with a self-satisfied expression, supremely feminine, almost feline in its smugness. She wriggled her ass back against me cutely, loving the feeling of being filled and owned by me.
I pulled out slowly and drew her to me again. Jumoke’s small frame leaned heavily against mine in the growing haze of the shower mist.
“Good night, husbaand,” she purred at me in her room after we cleaned up and I was ready to creep back upstairs into my bed.
She leaned in to kiss me with more than a little tongue, sitting cross-legged on her nest of bedding in panties and an old tee shirt that stretched over her big breasts and did nothing to hide the midriff bump that was starting to peek up the hem. I reciprocated eagerly before moving down to kiss our offspring.
****
A few days later, I was joining my parents at the family dining table for another breakfast before my daily slog through school life. My mother had been up my ass about JAMB examinationS, convinced that with my improved grades and our family connections, I still had a realistic shot at one of the top schools on her list.
As usual, it was all about what would make her look best.
Ready for work in a business suit that did a good job of downplaying his balding, out-of-shape 50s, Dad was a peripheral voice in my life at best, consumed with making millions. I honestly didn’t even know what he did except that he was a moustache wealthy man.
His titles kept changing as he climbed the corporate ladder. I knew he was a multimillionaire, but the tired eyes and hollow expression he wore around my mom made it clear that being rich wasn’t buying him happiness.
Mother did a good job of pretending to be happy behind that fake smile of hers, for the PTA and the Foundation and anyone else rich enough for the privilege of being in her orbit. She came from old money and acted like it.
I marvelled at the breakfast feast that Jumoke had set out for us. That girl had been working her ass off, as usual, to provide us with what looked like high-end hotel fare. She knew what we liked — eggs and homemade bread for Mother, smoked chicken and rice for Dad, along with steaming tea for both.
Scrambled eggs and a short stack of syrupy pancakes waited for me in front of my empty seat. An icy pitcher of freshly squeezed orange juice was the centrepiece, surrounded by an arrangement of fresh flowers.
No one appreciated it but me.
Jumoke wasn’t around when I slid into my chair in my dress code school shirt, khakis, and newish pair of Nike sneakers. As usual, she made my meal perfectly. I dug in with gusto.
“Hey Kiddo,” came my dad’s predictable, perfunctory greeting from behind his newspaper.
“There he is,” Mother sighed before launching into another discontented tirade. “It’s a shame you’re not coming with me to Dubai for Christmas.
Burj Khalifa is beautiful in December, an absolute dream…of course, it’s more important for you to pass your exams, but if you were just serious like I had told you, you wouldn’t have had to neglect your family obligations and stay behind…”
More like I would rather stay home with Jumoke while you’re gone to play politics with your side of the family and Dad fucks off back to Lagos to be with Tobi and Aunt Amara.
I tuned Mother out as best as I could. I was thinking about how overjoyed Jumoke was last night when I gave her a pitiful 40000 Naira. But it was more than my parents paid for her monthly salary, which somehow seemed very unfair.
It wasn’t like I really needed it anyway. I usually just blow it all hanging out with friends at night. But now those crazy coming-of-age nights all belonged to Jumoke.
As the breakfast table descended into the usual frayed marriage silence, Jumoke sauntered out of the kitchen with a brimming pitcher of fruit juice for the table. She gave me a quiet Mona Lisa smile when no one else was looking. Today Jumoke had decided to wear a polo work shirt and gray sweat shorts — usual domestic helper attire for her along with the topknot.
What was different though was how much that shirt had filled out. Whatever tipping point we had flaunted until now had finally been reached. Her round, protruding belly just couldn’t be hidden anymore. Though still small, it was now prominent and tautly defined enough that there was no way it could be passed off as just weight gain.
Our housekeeper was visibly pregnant out in the open now with her gravid little bump and enlarged tits pressed against the stretching fabric, almost demanding attention; broadcasting our maid’s fertility for all to see. I didn’t know if Jumoke even noticed when she put it on this morning, considering how the shirt had always been a bit loose.
No way my self-absorbed parents could miss it now. I panicked internally, berating myself for encouraging Jumoke to dress normally in my sex-fogged arrogance, to encourage this outcome.
Yeah we talked about it and expected it and it was part of my stupid-ass plan, but it really felt like a stupid-ass plan as our maid hummed happily to herself and sidled to the table to deposit the pitcher. Unbelievably at first, my mother still didn’t notice, but when she looked up and Jumoke turned to leave, she must have seen her side profile — it didn’t fucking help that Jumoke gave the upper curve of her belly a soothing maternal caress at the same time.
My mother’s critical eyes followed Jumoke from over the lip of her tea mug, a brow rising in distaste. She put it down and assumed an expression of disdain, picking at the eggs in front of her. When our maid disappeared back into the kitchen, she pressed her lips into a thin line.
“Well. It looks like Jumoke is in the family way,” my mother declared loudly.
I nearly choked on my juice.
“I suppose we’ll need to start looking for a new housemaid soon,” Mother continued with an impatient glare at the newspaper screen hiding my father’s face across the table from her. “My husband.”
“Hmm?” My dad finally looked up, lowering the latest edition of the Punch Newspaper. “Oh, that’s a shame, isn’t it? She’s been very good to us.”
“Yes, well,” my mother continued, clearly angered that my father wasn’t as outraged as she was. “I don’t suppose she’ll be able to work for us full-time and take care of her baby, do you?” Mother squared her jaw, rapping her ringed fingers over the fine teak wood of our table. “I need to ask the agency if they can recommend anyone good this late in the year.”
“She’s been with us going on almost two years now,” my father said calmly. “I don’t mind keeping her if she still wants to work.”
Mother gave my father an ice-cold glare. I could see the veins stand out in her neck, her fingernails digging into the table. She was about to say more, and I was going to interrupt and set my half-baked plan into motion, but my father beat me to it.
“We’ll talk about it with her today after work, Dearest,” Dad said, before the newspaper snapped open and went up again.
Mother was furious, glaring at him in a rage before her eyes narrowed with something even uglier.
Clearly, my dad wasn’t handling the scandal the way she wanted. With a clatter of plates and a screech of her chair legs, my mother stormed out of the dining area and up the stairs.
I took a moment to calm myself down. I saw an opportunity but was pulling everything out of my ass at this point.
“I think we should keep her, Dad,” I spoke up, breaking the awkward silence as I glanced from my plate. “She’s got people who depend on her back home, you know?”
My father looked at me from the side, curious.
“How do you know that?”
“It’s part of what I learnt in my economics class, like, laborers and the economy,” I lied easily, knowing he had no idea what the hell I was up to at school. “They’re all like that. I interviewed her for my class. Her parents are in debt and she’s putting her sister through school.”
“Huh.” Satisfied with my explanation, my father nodded. “Good boy, keeping up with your books. I heard your grades keep improving too. Maybe you’ll study abroad like your dad if you work at it.”
I laughed awkwardly. “Haha, yeah, sure thing. Anyway, I like Jumoke, you know? She cooks really good and the house is always nice.”
“Mhm. Well, it’s not your decision, son, but I appreciate that you care about it. For the record, I want her to stay too, especially if she’s got family depending on her.” My father chuckled, turning the page as he got back to reading. “You know, your grandmother had me young, and she worked every single day right up until she went into labor.”
“Damn, I didn’t know Mama did that,” I whistled.
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