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Conference Conception - Part 1

Stuck-up corporate wife finds there's more to life than Literature

They say pride comes before a fall. I can tell you it’s true.

I had always hated my husband’s conferences. I had always hated having to play the ‘Little Woman’ whose sole role in life was to support her big, strong husband in his glittering career.

It wasn’t that William, my husband didn’t have a glittering career; he most certainly did and if things went well at this particular conference, they would be even more glittering in years to come. It wasn’t that I resented having to support him in his chosen path; after all, he had supported me in my own equally glittering career in a quite different field.

No, what I resented was being lumped together with the bimbos, trophy wives and teenage girlfriends of most of the other men in the middle and upper echelons of the IT business in which my husband had chosen to excel. As a Professor in a prestigious University in a nearby city, I considered myself to be in a different class to most of them; certainly I was in a different class both educationally and intellectually.

Nevertheless, for a whole weekend every six months I had to pretend I was just like them; that I knew and cared about what happened in the endless soap operas and reality TV programmes they talked about incessantly. I had to fake an interest in property prices; in private schools; in local dress shops.

For my husband, conferences were a necessary evil. For me they were hell!

Who would have guessed when we graduated together from University, me with a First Class Degree in English Literature, William with a Lower Second in Business Administration, that my principal reason for being with him at that conference would be to try and look like a trophy wife, smile simperingly at my husband’s colleagues, laugh at their jokes however bad they were and ask as few demanding questions as possible.

It wasn’t that I couldn’t be glamorous and sexy when I need to. Far from it, at five feet nine inches – higher in my heels – I was as tall as many of the men at the conference. Thanks to frequent visits to the gym I was slim to the point of skinny too and had a figure most women envy. Okay, so my dark brown hair needed monthly attention to keep the grey away but you couldn’t have everything.

We both earned good salaries too so I could indulge in the odd designer dress when I felt like it. Indeed, the tight fitting, short-but-not-quite-too-short-for-a-woman-of-my-age dark blue number with the pale blue front that I was wearing that evening had been bought on London’s Regent Street to give me a style advantage over the other, more overtly sexual wives and girlfriends at this conference.

I might not be able to keep up with their small talk but I was damned if I was going to let myself be out-glammed by a bunch of bimbos.

I despised small talk. At my job in the University I talked about big issues; medieval literature, the effect of theatre on tumultuous twentieth century politics, the American novel. Chatting drivel about school fees and babysitters was as close to torture as I ever wanted to come.

What made things far worse was that so many of the other wives seemed to find all this so easy. The more bimbo the woman, the better she seemed to blend into the conference. It was if they had been born to it; they had no trouble making trivial conversation with each other and with their husbands’ colleagues about nothing at all.

It didn’t help that William and I had so far been unable to have children. If we had, then I might have had more in common with the other ‘girls’ as the retiring Senior Partner annoyingly called us. There wasn’t a major problem; William had a low sperm count but it was really just that our busy lives hadn’t made children a priority until recently – and even now the desire was mostly been on Will’s part.

Still, we were trying now. We were only in our early forties so there was plenty of time. We had an active sex life – very active in fact and weren’t using any form of birth control so, as the Doctor had said, ‘if it’s going to happen, it will happen’.

It could take its sweet time happening as far as I was concerned. I for one was in no hurry to swap my researching, writing, lecturing and travelling for nappies and baby vomit but I guessed eventually my body-clock would click in and the desire to be a mother would take over.

My husband however was ready to be a father now and until the last two weeks had taken every available opportunity to inseminate me. With the prospect of the ultimate promotion and the pressure on him this high, Will’s testosterone levels were through the roof. Unfortunately for his plans, working late every night and schmoozing the other Partners for his promotion had prevented us making love for the last few weeks but those pressures would reduce sharply at the conference.

Had I been as excited at the prospect of parenthood as my husband, the timing could not have been better. As Will had explained many times, the stars were on our side; our sex life would resume with a vengeance immediately after the conference, exactly in line with my next ovulation and right in my most fertile period of the month.

How could it fail to work? Our baby would be conceived on the very day its father reached the pinnacle of his career. It had to work!

Will had talked excitedly for weeks about the Conference Conception he confidently expected to take place that weekend. I was by no means as certain that it would happen and was even less sure I wanted to get fat and spotty and gain stretch marks but I trusted in nature to bring my mind in line with my body if sperm finally met egg and motherhood became inevitable.

Meanwhile we had our careers and however I felt about it, I couldn’t afford to fail in my task that weekend.

William was one of only a handful of candidates for the role of Senior Partner that was about to become vacant following the retirement of its current occupant. All the candidates had been manoeuvring for positon for months and this conference was the last networking event before the Board Meeting and vote. Any influence William could exert on the other partners this weekend could have the decisive effect on who was to get the Top Job.

Had the positions been reversed, I knew William would have done everything in his power to support me – indeed he had already done so when I was appointed my current position in the University. However I felt about it, it was my duty to whatever I could to support him now, however difficult it felt.

And I had done so for the whole, interminable duration of the weekend. As I looked at my watch I saw it was ten thirty in the evening on the very last night. Things had gone well; the final dinner was over; the speeches had been made and the awards given out.

My husband had performed superbly throughout and I was proud of him. The speech he had made in tribute to the retiring Senior Partner had been just the right blend of humour, flattery and genuine admiration. No-one else’s words had come close; if we could play our cards right and gain the last handful of votes from the few remaining undecided partners, the top job would be his.

With the financial security that would follow, perhaps then having a family wouldn’t feel such an abandonment of my career and independence. If nothing else we would be able to afford an au pair or full time nanny for the more distasteful parts. Until then, I had to remain on duty and perform that duty to the best of my ability.

As I stood at the edge of the busy, messy dining room I felt satisfied with my own performance too. I had chatted, smiled and flirted with the Partners, laughed at their bad jokes, let them buy me drinks to flatter their male egos… Perhaps a few too many drinks if I was honest.

I had gossiped with their wives and girlfriends too, buying them drinks in return and joining them in some of the most outrageously sweet and alcoholically strong concoctions I had ever tasted while the gossip grew more and more scandalous.

I had even talked to that loathsome individual, Phil Gibson, the firm’s smug, self-obsessed top salesman and the curse of the office juniors.

*

Every large company has a Phil Gibson. In his early thirties, young, fit, very good looking and without a trace of morality in his whole body, Phil had wreaked havoc throughout the firm’s female staff for years. Blessed with a pair of penetrating green come-to-bed eyes that could dent even the strongest female resistance, he simply loved a challenge.

In his quest for seduction, boyfriends, fiancées and even husbands meant little to him, as long as they didn’t threaten his physical safety. Even then, he was so fit and his body so well trained that only a martial arts expert or insanely jealous jilted partner would think of taking him on.

One night stands were the norm for Phil; any relationship lasting more than three months was very rare but that didn’t prevent even hardened girls falling for his charms. As a result he had left a trail of broken dreams, hearts, marriages and hymens behind him.

My husband hated him. No matter how good his performance, William would have Phil Gibson out of the door once the business became his.

I had met Phil several times before that night and experienced his charm at first hand. Fortunately I had been warned about his reputation in advance so was prepared but even so, with his easy, relaxed manner, soft voice, incredible eyes and an uncanny ability to remember about you only the things you wanted to be remembered, I could feel the power of his personality and its overt sexual attraction.

It wasn’t hard to see how younger, less experienced girls could be enticed into his trap. Few emerged unscathed and none without leaving their names on his trophy belt. He was rumoured to be very well endowed and well-skilled in bed too. From the scandalous stories that had reached me via my friend Maggie, those rumours seemed to be true.

“He’s got a row of cards in a frame on his office wall,” she had told me two years earlier at a company drinks evening in their smart offices. “All diamonds from the Ace to the nine.”

“Why? What do they mean?”

“They’re supposed to represent the big clients he’s landed since he’s been here,” she gave a few examples of Phil’s biggest triumphs.

“That’s good isn’t it?” I asked naively.

Maggie looked left and right before replying.

“Rumour is that they really represent the wives of the Partners that he’s slept with.”

“What?” I demanded, aghast.

“There are twelve Partners, right? Twelve cards and one for Phil himself. He’s supposed to be the Ace.”

“Conceited little turd,” I hissed. “Why diamonds?”

“He thinks diamonds look most like…” she pointed towards her own groin then towards mine.

“Disgusting,” I snorted, unimpressed.

“Right,” Maggie agreed. “But the implication is that he’s had eight of the Partners’ wives already. He’s trying for the set so only has four to go.”

“Has he tried it on with you?” I asked, horrified.

“He tries it on with everyone,” Maggie laughed. “It seems light hearted but he’s actually serious. If he sees a weakness he pushes his luck hard. It wouldn’t surprise me if it had worked a few times. He’s a very attractive man.”

There was something in her voice that made me do a double-take.

“Have you and he…” I began to ask.

“No of course not,” Maggie grinned then changed the subject abruptly as our husbands approached the table.

Later on in the evening I surreptitiously checked Phil’s office. There was indeed a long, narrow frame containing playing cards, numbered from the Ace to the Nine – and with space for the remaining four to fit alongside.

Eight Partners’ wives? Surely that was just an office joke!

*

Six months later I dropped a package off at my husband’s desk. As I passed by Phil’s empty office I couldn’t help noticing that the ten and Jack of diamonds had been added.

If Maggie’s story was to be believed, this meant Phil had added two more Partner’s wives to the notches on his bedpost since I had last been there. That meant there were only two more to go.

One of them was me; I assumed but did not know for sure that the other unconquered wife was Maggie.

But this was all silly macho nonsense, surely!

*

Before I go on, a quick word about Maggie.

If every business has a Phil, every Partner’s wife needs a Maggie. Margaret Jackson was the wife of one of my husband’s opposite numbers, Brian. We had met at the first social event after Will had joined the business and to my surprise, had become good friends.

Although a Partner like Will, Maggie’s husband Brian was ten years older and had clearly reached the peak of his career whereas Will had much further to go. Brian recognised both these facts and had clearly decided his best course of action was to help the rising star on his way.

The fact that they were friends too made this easier. It also made it easier for me to relax in the company of his wife.

Though older than me, Maggie and I were the same height, very similar in build and both had shoulder length straight blonde hair. But although it was striking, the similarity between us stopped at the physical. We were not on the same intellectual level at all. Maggie had left school at sixteen and had been a beauty therapist for some years before meeting, bedding and finally marrying her older husband Brian. She was pretty, sexy, pleasant, friendly, very good company and the greatest source of company gossip I had ever met.

With a highly inquisitive nature and ten years as a company wife under her belt, Maggie’s connections within the business were second to none. She knew everything that was worth knowing and, perhaps taking a lead from her husband, had taken me under her wing from the start. Her good advice over the years had been invaluable in helping my husband deal with career enhancing or threatening opportunities and had helped me avoid many of the pitfalls an unsuspecting spouse might suffer too.

I wasn’t foolish enough to believe she only gossiped with me so was careful not to let her know anything that I did not want broadcast. And anything that I did want the world to know I told her - in the strictest confidence of course!

At a conference as important to my husband’s career as this, a friend like Maggie was vital so I had spent a great deal of time with her and her other friends, pretending to have watched the TV programmes they loved and the movies they had seen but most of all talking, laughing and unfortunately drinking much more than I was used to.

The result was that, as midnight passed, I felt uncharacteristically unsteady on my feet. Having literally no idea what was inside the many cocktails I had felt obliged to consume, I had been unable to pace my drinking as strictly as I would usually have done and was feeling as tipsy as I could remember being in a long time.

“How are you?” Will asked as he sidled up to me in a quiet moment.

“I’m drunk,” I confessed.

“Carole!” he sounded genuinely shocked.

“Sorry! I’ve been trying to keep up with the WAGs.”

The term WAGs had been coined during a football World Cup some years ago. It stood for the ‘Wives And Girlfriends’ of the team players and, to my snobbish friends as well as me, was now used in a highly derogatory way.

“You should know better,” Will grinned, holding my hand firmly. “What do you want to do now?”

“Go to bed,” I said, leaning a little more heavily against him than either of us expected and almost toppling the pair of us over.

“Jesus, Carole! You’re not kidding are you?” Will whispered.

“Nope!” I replied.

“Well I can take you to the room soon but right now I’m still on duty,” he said quietly. “I’m on my way to see Cliff and Richard in the bar. If I get their support, I’m home and dry.”

“Better go then,” I slurred.

“And you’d better have a sit down,” he said, directing me to a soft padded bench against the wall. “I’ll get Monica to look after you.”

He waved and a familiar young woman answered his call. A surge of drunken anger rose within me.

Monica had been my husband’s PA for the past year. She was intelligent, professional, efficient, tall, dark-haired and stunningly attractive. Even my normally calm, professional husband had been unable to fully conceal his attraction to her.

What was worse was that she made no secret of the fact that she found Will very attractive too.

It wasn’t anything she said, but as a woman myself I could read another woman’s body language like a book. The casual touching, the way she mentioned his name a little too frequently, the look in her eyes when they talked, the way she stood slightly too close to him.

At first I had suspected my husband of lusting after her and her of trying to take him away from me. I told myself that I was being childish; that feelings of jealousy were beneath me both in class and in intelligence. Of course they would find each other attractive; they were both attractive people. But that didn’t mean my husband was going to try and get her into bed any more than I would let the equally attractive Phil Gibson do the same with me.

Nevertheless and to my continued self-disgust, I remained jealous. This feeling wasn’t helped by alcohol, the amount of time they had spent together that very evening or the way he steered her round towards me now with his hand on the small of her back.

“My wife’s feeling a little… unwell,” Will was saying. “Would you mind keeping an eye on her for a moment?”

“Of course,” she agreed, perching on the bench next to me, revealing altogether too much thigh and placing one of her hands on mine.

There was an awkward pause as we both tried to work out just how drunk I was. From the inside it felt like I was about to topple over but I tried as hard as I could to maintain a bit of composure in front of a woman who might just be a rival for my husband’s affection.

I suspect Monica had enjoyed a few drinks too because her voice wasn’t quite as cut-glass as usual.

“Would you like some water,” she asked concerned.

“I’m fine thank you,” I replied frostily.

There was another awkward pause.

“I do enjoy working for William,” she said. “You must be very proud of him.”

I nodded to avoid having to slur my speech.

“They say he’ll get promoted to Senior Partner soon.”

She was becoming more animated by the sentence.

“I’m really lucky to be part of his team. To work so closely with him.”

She seemed even more proud of my husband than I was. Working with him every day, perhaps she saw him more clearly. Perhaps she was right.

“I mean…”

She continued her speech of admiration but I wasn’t listening. As Monica launched into another enthusiastic praise of my husband, several things came into my mind in quick succession.

The first was that her top was far too tight and her skirt was far too short.

The second was that she wasn’t wearing a bra despite her fairly impressive boobs.

The third was that the more she talked about my husband, the more erect her nipples were becoming.

The fourth was that if I didn’t give him what he wanted soon there was someone here who would do so in my place.

The fifth was that if I didn’t lie down soon I would be sick.

“.. and I’ll be with him all weekend at the US conference too.”

“What?”

My drink-fuddled attention was suddenly roused. Had I heard correctly? Was this gorgeous girl about to spend a whole weekend in an American hotel with my husband?

Had I been sober this would have given me only the slightest twinge of jealousy. After all, Will had been to many conferences with many Personal Assistants over the years without incident. But I was not sober and none of these other PAs had looked like Monica or talked about my husband with the same starry-eyed adoration that she had just done.

I was a drunk, jealous, woman. A dangerous creature indeed!

Monica was still talking but her words were washing over me. Will was my husband; he had married me and was going to have a family with me, not her, however good a figure she might have. Whatever my feelings had been, I was going to give him his Conference Conception and was going to give it to him that very night.

If only I could remain conscious.

Just then my husband returned.

“How’s the patient?” he asked his protégé.

“I think she needs to lie down,” Monica replied indulgently.

“I’ve never seen her like this before,” Will said in a whisper. “What in God’s name did they put in those drinks they gave her?”

The same question occurred to me but I couldn’t voice it.

“The guys are waiting for me in the bar,” he told me quietly. “They’re the last votes I need so I can’t keep them on ice too long.”

“You go,” I insisted. “I’ll be okay.”

“Let’s get you to bed,” he grinned. “It makes a nice change, me being the sober one.” He laughed ironically. “But that won’t last long if I know those two. They’re all-nighters!”

With Monica on one side of me and Will on the other, I was steered through the bar then led along the corridor to our room. It was, thank God, on the ground floor like all the other rooms the company had booked for the night; I’m not sure how I could have handled stairs in my heels.

When they got me into the bedroom, Will lowered the zipper on the back of my dress then made to leave.

“I’ll be waiting for you when you get back,” I mumbled as sexily as I could manage. “We’ve got unfinished business!”

He laughed aloud.

“You’ll be fast asleep!”

“Then wake me,” I smiled with a leer. “I want you to know I’m very proud of you, Mister Senior Partner,” I slurred though I meant every word. “I want you to have what you want.”

My hands brushed against my belly.

“I’m proud of you too,” he replied, kissing me on the lips. I hiccoughed silently. “You’ve done a great job tonight too. Everyone thinks you’re amazing.”

“Don’t embarrass me,” I protested though his words made me feel good inside.

“You’ve never looked sexier too. Maybe the idea of a Conference Conception is making you feel a bit turned on.”

I blushed. In truth it was the last thing I was feeling but I couldn’t tell my husband that.

“Maybe he’ll be a Senior Partner’s Baby as well,” Will added with a lustful leer.

“Don’t be too long,” I whispered, hinting that I might perhaps be open to his advances. “I’m not sure how long I can stay awake for you.”

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he smiled. “When you do go to sleep, you’d better make sure you drink a lot of water. You’re going to have a sore head in the morning.”

His words were a chastisement but the tone of voice in which they were said was soft and caring. I kissed him on the lips again, the room spinning slowly as our mouths met.

“I’ll be back soon. The way you look tonight it’s just got to work!”

He was right; it was the perfect opportunity. After all, I would never be more relaxed than I was then and to be honest; William had seldom looked as drop-dead-gorgeous or been so manly and impressive a husband as he was that night. Besides, the thought of Monica waiting in the shadows gave me no choice.

If I did get knocked up, maybe next year I would have a lot more in common with the bimbos too.

Alone in the room, I undressed, pulled on my shortest, sexiest nightgown and climbed into bed, leaving the door unlocked so that Will could get back into the room later. I tried reading by the bedside light while I waited for him to arrive but it was hopeless; I was too tired and too drunk and within a few seconds I had fallen fast asleep.

I don’t know how long I dozed but it felt like a short while later when I awoke with a start from a dull but vivid dream. My head was spinning as was the room. I was still alone in bed but thanks to my dream was totally convinced that I had lost my handbag. I sat bolt upright then looked around the room. It was nowhere to be seen.

Of course! I had given it to Will to get the key when he had opened the room’s door. He must have put my bag down in the corridor when he and Monica helped me take off my shoes. It must be just outside; thank God we were at the end of a quiet corridor; there would be few passers-by who might steal it.

I threw back the duvet and rose unsteadily to my feet. The room span even more and my tummy threatened to empty itself into my mouth but I could not let my purse, papers and credit cards get lost. At least there wasn’t far to go.

In my tiny nightie I staggered across the darkened room and opened the door. The corridor was pitch dark; the night lights must have failed. In my drunkenness, this seemed like a blessing; there was even less chance of anyone finding my handbag or seeing me retrieve it.

I took a deep breath and stepped out into the blackness of the corridor. The door closed behind me but being such an old hotel it didn’t need a key to open so I wasn’t concerned. Moving unsteadily, I looked in the most obvious places but my bag wasn’t there. I moved further along the corridor, peering into the darkness for a shadow the right size and shape but still found nothing.

Puzzled, I tottered my way further along, feeling along the floor with my hands as well as searching with my eyes, becoming more anxious with every step and more grateful that the almost complete absence of light was hiding my half-exposed body from prying eyes.

When I reached the fire door at the end of the corridor I could go no further. I turned and looked back. In the low glow of the emergency light I could see the four doors to the rooms on the left hand side and a handful of chairs and other pieces of furniture against the wall on the right.

There was something dark on top of a bookcase about half way along. I felt my drunken way back along the wall until I came to the shadow and grabbed it.

It was my handbag!

With a huge feeling of relief washing over me, I crossed the corridor to my room and turned the handle. The door opened easily, I pushed it and went into the room, desperate to get back into my bed, to sleep off the remains of the alcohol and wait for my wonderful husband to put a baby in me.

The room was even darker than I remembered but I knew where the bed was and made a beeline for it.

“Ouch!”

I stubbed my toe hard on something large and solid on the floor that felt like a suitcase. Cursing my husband for moving things around when he had put me to bed, I edged my way round the unknown object and to my relief found the side of the bed within moments.

I climbed in, annoyed that the sheets and duvet had become so cold so quickly but I needed sleep so badly I didn’t really care. My eyes closed the moment my head touched the pillow and sleep came like a thick blanket.

Sometime later I was woken again by the door opening. There was a flash of dim light from the corridor emergency light then the door closed again with a click and the room was in total darkness.

“Is that you?” I whispered in a slurred voice.

“Are you in bed already?”

The voice was equally slurred. I opened half an eye but it was too dark to see what state my husband was in. I gave up; the room had almost stopped spinning but I still desperately needed to sleep and I felt distinctly sick.

“Mmmm!” I replied. “I’ve been waiting ages.”

The power still apparently off, the light switch didn’t even click. Instead I heard the sound of clothes being rapidly removed in the darkness then the bed rocked as a large male body slid alongside me.

“I’m tired,” I protested half-heartedly. “I know I promised but...”

I was curled up with my back towards him, ready to fall asleep again when I felt hands beginning to stroke my bottom, sides and the back of my legs. Even in my tired, inebriated state it felt pleasant; very pleasant; even more so when the hands reached round to caress my boobs through my nightgown.

“So shy?” the whispered voice behind me asked softly.

Surely he wouldn’t try and have sex with me now. Surely he could tell how tired and tipsy I was. But then he was tired and tipsy himself, a promise was a promise and there was always Monica...

“Shhh!” the soft wordless voice in my ear was sweet and reassuring. “Don’t move!”

It was good advice; although the nausea was much reduced, the way my stomach still felt suggested it would be wise to keep my mouth pointed away from humankind, just in case...

The stroking continued gently; the fingers expertly placed. On the one hand it was relaxing and soothing, on the other, despite my tipsy tiredness I could feel myself becoming quickly and distinctly aroused. After the last two weeks of abandonment, even in my inebriated state this focussed attention on me was very welcome.

I lay still, enjoying the touch of his hands on my body; on my bottom, around my sides to my boobs, on the backs of my thighs, taking their unhurried time before sliding under my nightgown, raising it and gently stroking my bared tummy and thighs. I could feel the reassuring, arousing warmth of a large, strong male body close behind me, his hot breath on my shoulders and in my hair.

“Mmmm! Niiice,” I slurred, still very much feeling the alcohol in my veins.

In reply, the hot breath moved across my back and down my arm, followed by showers of tiny kisses and the long, slow stroke of the tip of a warm tongue between my shoulder blades as downy upper thighs began to rub gently against the back of my legs.

“Mmm! Very niiice.”

William could be sensitive and romantic when he tried. I had imagined that the pressure of work combined with the magnitude of the task he had to undertake at the conference would make him crude and insensitive in bed. To find out I was wrong, even in the small hours of a drunken evening was very pleasing indeed. I relaxed into his touch, feeling his legs, fingers, breath and tongue doing their badly-needed work on my body.

The sensations were amazing, heightening my senses as far as the alcohol would allow while still keeping me mellow and open. I felt the hem of my nightgown being slowly raised and instinctively lifted my hips to let it pass, my arousal growing by the minute.

The gown slipped further up my body, exposing my boobs. It stopped and a warm, delicate hand began to caress my firming globes and stroke my oh-so-sensitive nipples. I could feel them hardening under its expert touch and leaned back against the strong, masculine chest behind me, giving free access to my soft, white flesh.

The darkness was all but absolute but I made it even darker by closing my eyes, feeling the soft hair of a male chest against the delicate skin of my back and a hardening erection pressing against the underside of my buttocks.

A warm hand slid over my cheeks, massaging their soft flesh and running a finger along the cleft in between. I gasped in surprise as fingertips passed over my puckered anus before finding the base of my slit and sliding along my crevice.

“Mmm!” I moaned, my voice still slurred.

The kisses on the base of my neck resumed.

“Mmm!”

I could feel something else against my cleft now, something warm, long, smooth and very firm. My reservations crumbled; I knew what I really wanted now and it was what my husband wanted too. Something to make our lives complete; something we were both ready for now he had secured the all-important promotion.

“Make a baby in me,” I hissed.

“Are you sure?” the voice from behind my head was low, breathy and very sexy.

“I want it,” I hissed again. “I want my Conference Conception.”

I felt the long, hard, smooth object being rubbed along my cleft. I pressed back against it and felt its smooth end slip between my outer lips.

“Still sure?” the voice asked one last time.

“God yes!”

The smooth rounded end was moving up and down my slit now, seeking my entrance. I raised my upper leg to ease its way and a moment later felt its tip insinuating itself between my inner lips. I opened my thighs further then shivered with pleasure as my entrance began to stretch around the amazing pole of muscle that, I hoped and prayed, would soon transform me into a mother.

There was a brief rocking of the bed, a bunching of male muscles.

“Ahhh!”

I sighed loudly and contentedly as a desperately-desired erection slid smoothly past my tight entrance and into my vagina.

“Yesss!”

The voice behind my head purred contentedly as the long, thick shaft slipped deeper and deeper into my cavern, sawing back and forth until I felt the touch of hot hips against my buttocks and the pressure of an erect penis against my cervix. We lay still for a moment, my vagina gripping the invading shaft tightly, my body adjusting to the long-awaited invasion.

It was amazing how different this new position felt, lying on my side being entered from behind at a new and unfamiliar angle. The surprisingly long, extra-thick shaft was rubbing against my insides in new and exciting places, stimulating me in way I hadn’t felt in years of marriage.

Perhaps it was the alcohol relaxing me; perhaps it was the excitement of being so close to securing the precious Senior Partnership we had both worked so hard for. Perhaps it was the new acceptance of my future as a mother but the sensations emanating from my well-filled vagina were like nothing I had felt before.

I had heard that baby-making sex was like no other but until that moment had never experienced it myself. Perhaps my previous reluctance to conceive had robbed me of the exquisite pleasure I was now glimpsing; if that was so then I had been a foolish, selfish woman. Now my entire body was focussed on the penetrating shaft that would soon fill my fertile body with life-producing sperm.

My head span as I pictured what was happening inside me; the smooth end of my lover’s cock pressed against the entrance to my womb, for the moment unmoving. The tiny lips from which his life creating sperm would soon burst forth was positioned next to the pink passage through which they must swim. Hidden behind the meaty ring of my cervix would be one of my eggs, waiting to be penetrated itself and for new life to begin.

Then all such thoughts were driven from my mind as that wonderful cock began to move in and out of me, slowly and softly at first but with gathering speed and force. I felt strong hands on the sensitive skin of my hips and sides as the long, slim shaft slipped in and out of my tight, damp cavern.

“Hhhh!”

I sighed aloud, feeling the ridges and undulations as they passed repeatedly through my tightly-stretched entrance, penetrating deep into my body with every stroke, each one more powerful than the last. I began to moan, feeling his hands on my body again, on my sides, on my hips, on my boobs, on my nipples.

It felt good; it felt better than good; it felt right. Tonight it was special; tonight it would work.

The Conference Conception we had joked about might not be a joke after all.

But first there was to be pleasure, and pleasure in abundance as the long, strong shaft was pulled back until only its head remained in my body before being thrust hard into me again.

Maybe the alcohol was having the same effect on my husband as it was on me; relaxing me, taking away the tension that might have prevented me conceiving before. Maybe it was the knowledge that we were deliberately trying for a baby that was making the difference.

Just as I had seldom felt this aroused before, so my husband’s lovemaking had never been this sensitive before, never been so arousing before. His erection had never felt this big before; had never filled me like this before, had never brought this much pleasure before.

William and I had made love many times in many positions but this was new; not only was the cock inside me moving in and out, the hips to which it was attached were being twisted, turning the wonderful shaft as it was thrust, churning my insides, touching me in different places, no two strokes the same.

Where had my husband learned to do this incredible thing? The sensations were amazing, the warmth inside me growing faster by the second…

“YESSS!”

The first orgasm took me completely by surprise, making my whole body shake. The second followed hot on its heels, making me moan out loud into the silence of the room. As the heat of my orgasm washed through me, I promised myself I would be different from now on, would lighten up and enjoy sex more; would even let myself get drunk more.

If the rewards felt as good as this all things were possible! If this was what a Conference Conception felt like, I wanted to be knocked up now!

Instinct took over. I began to move my hips in time with the penetrating phallus, pressing back onto the magical cock within me as it was thrust forward over and over again. I moaned as the pleasure mounted even higher; the cock inside me thicker and harder than it had ever been, its head now battering my cervix with every stroke.

I could feel another, much larger climax building within me. Will must have felt it too because he began to thrust even faster and more powerfully, trying to bring himself to orgasm in time with mine.

“Yes! OH GOD YES!” I wailed helplessly.

“Guh Guh Guh Guh!” the noises from behind my head were almost feral in their passion.

“Oh Yes! Oh Yes! Don’t stop Don’t stop!”

“Guh-Guh-Guh-Guh!” He couldn’t be far from his climax now.

Driven by pure animal instinct, I clamped down as hard on his cock as my pelvic floor would allow. The sensations multiplied. My whole vulva came alive.

“Oh my Ggggoooddd!yyyeeeooowww!

The climax that hit me was the strongest I had experienced in my entire life, rocking my body with its intensity, depriving me of breath, opening my eyes wide and forcing my quivering vagina into spasm. I could feel it gripping the invading phallus tighter over and over again as if trying to milk it dry and draw its owner’s entire body into mine.

“Cum in me!” Cum in me! Cum in me!” I croaked for all I was worth. “Seed me! Give me my babyyy!”

The effect behind me was profound. The head of the cock within me suddenly swelled, filling me even fuller. Its strokes became short and erratic too... Then the dam burst and I felt the unmistakable sensation of a man’s cock beginning to pulse and throb and ejaculate inside my body.

“AAAGGGHHH!”

The ejaculation was a big one; the throbbing deep within my pelvis seeming to go on forever. However much alcohol had been consumed, it was clearly not interfering either with performance in bed or production of semen.

The cock within me pulsed as my body was filled with raw male sperm. My drunken, helplessly-orgasming mind filled with the image of millions of tiny wriggling creatures cascading from its tip and surging into my body on a desperate quest to find my egg and impregnate me.

And this time the egg would be there! This time they would find it!

As I lay there trembling, I knew this with absolute certainty. My head span, my tummy churned. At that very moment I was certain I could feel the beginnings of new life being formed within my hitherto unused womb.

Nothing in my life had prepared me for this. A sensation this fundamental could only result from a woman fulfilling her deepest, most basic reason to be on this earth! As my body was wracked by the last few orgasmic spasms, I finally understood what it meant to be a real woman; what it meant to need a child; the desperate desire to be seeded; what the creation of new life within me really meant.

I wanted the wonderful, primeval feeling it to last forever but of course it could not. Eventually the throbbing within me came to an end and the movement behind me grew still. I could feel panting; hot male breath on the back of my neck as my whole body began to tingle in post-coital glow. The erection inside me began to soften then slipped from my body leaving me feeling empty and vulnerable but with true contentment in my soul.

It would happen; it was happening even now deep inside me. There was no doubt in my mind, by the morning I would be pregnant.

The kisses on the back of my neck resumed, strong hands returned to my trembling sides and waist. The bed rocked as a large male body rolled onto its back behind me.

I was seconds away from sleep.

“That was… that was… perfect,” I sighed as my eyes closed.

“Shh!” came the reply in a slurred voice I could barely recognise.

The warm strong hands stroked my hips, sides and shoulders lovingly once again as the after-shocks of my orgasm began. Tiny kisses were showered on the back of my neck. My head span with a mixture of alcohol and post-climactic haze before sweet, impregnated sleep wrapped me tightly in its arms.

*

I don’t know how long I slept. I have dim memories of being lifted from the bed sometime in the night and carried somewhere. I remember being cold then warm again as a thick, soft duvet was pulled over me.

Sometime, I don’t know how much later, I remember being woken again by the bed shaking. I turned my head but it was too dark to see. I remember my husband’s voice as he sat on the edge of the mattress. I remember him pulling off his socks then rolling alongside me. I remember him kissing me on the back of my head.

This time when I rolled to face him the room wasn’t spinning at all but I did get the full benefit of whisky-infused breath in my face.

“Sorry,” he slurred when I choked in surprise.

“Darling,” I said to the man whose baby I was surely now carrying.

“Had too much to drink,” he replied. “Sorry. Have to do it tomorrow,” he slurred before rolling onto his back and beginning to snore.

Something in his words puzzled me but I was too sleepy to work out what.

 

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